


No Earthly Knight

by Bouncey



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Ballad 39: Tam Lin, Cursed Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Fae Magic, Fairy Tale Retellings, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Injury Recovery, Jaskier is a Child Surprise, Jaskier | Dandelion Has Feelings, M/M, Mild Gore, Protective Jaskier | Dandelion, Red Riding Hood Elements, Red Riding Hood/Tam Lin Fusion, Romance, Strangers to Lovers, The Big Bad White Wolf, The Morrigan - Freeform, Well he's more of an Adult Surprise at this point but whatever, Werewolf Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Werewolf Turning, like very very mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-08-25
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 23,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25621174
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bouncey/pseuds/Bouncey
Summary: "Your spine shall crack, your shoulders bend,Your eyes shall change, your clothes shall rend.No longer will you be a Knight,But instead a wolf of wintry white;Until the one whose love is trueHolds fast and keeps their arms 'round you:From snake to bear to lion strongWe'll burn their arms with you erelong."The Morrigan cursed Geralt to live as a werewolf as punishment for spurning her advances many years ago. Only giving in to her or earning the love of his fated match can free him from the spell. After Lord Pankratz of Carterhaugh disappointed him by leaving the Law of Surprise unfulfilled, the disgraced knight is unsure that he'll ever find someone to save him. Except that Lord Pankratz's son has a strong will and a mind of his own; and he wants to meet the Big Bad White Wolf of Carterhaugh Forest.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 106
Kudos: 383





	1. Into the Woods

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zornofzorna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zornofzorna/gifts).



> New multichapter story! I hope everyone is as excited as I am. 
> 
> This time around the chapter titles will be themed around Broadway musical numbers. This one is pretty self explanatory. 
> 
> Enjoy!

_Oh, I forbid ye travelers all,_ _  
_ _That wear gold in your hair,_ _  
_ _To come or go by Carterhaugh,_ _  
_ _The Wolf lives wild there._

 _If you’re to go through Carterhaugh_ _  
_ _Ye best not go alone._ _  
_ _Bring your sword or bring a gift_ _  
_ _To get ye safely home._

 _Jaskier has tied his crimson cloak_ _  
_ _A little above his knee,_ _  
_ _And he has swept his feath’ry hair_ _  
_ _A little above his bree,_ _  
_ _And he's away to Carterhaugh_ _  
_ _As fast as go can he._

* * *

Julian Alfred Pankratz knew without a shadow of a doubt that the forest surrounding his family’s estate was haunted. He’d known since the moment he could understand the words of those around him. He’d known the instant his nanny picked him up from the garden’s edge, where he’d been staring out towards the trees, and carried him back inside. She’d mumbled angrily under her breath about _those damnable woods_ and _irresponsible, stubborn nobility_ but he hadn’t understood what she meant. He was well aware of the potential dangers lurking among the thick, tangled branches of Carterhaugh Forest; he just didn’t care. Julian was fascinated by the sprawling expanse of greenery and shadow. He wanted more than anything to go exploring there and see what creatures really _did_ keep their homes between heavy oak and maple boughs.

But it wasn’t allowed.

Despite his parents insistence that nothing dangerous lived on their land, they still kept the young Lord penned inside the manicured gardens. “Don’t stray far from the walking path,” his mother warned on a daily basis. “And don’t _ever_ leave the castle grounds. It’s just not safe for someone so young to be in a forest so vast. We’d never be able to find you again if you got lost and wandered too far.”

Julian begrudgingly obeyed. 

He kept away from the Forest not because he was frightened of any ghosts or monsters but because he couldn’t bear the thought of being parted from his darling grandmother. The Widow Pankratz had raised him all on her own while his parents were away at court. They'd spent most of his childhood advising the freshly crowned King and helping restore the war-ravaged lands to the east and south.

His beloved Babcia was his entire world and he, in turn, was hers.

It was she who finally told him of the Wolf in the woods.

One sunny summer day when Julian was six years old and at his most inquisitive, the little Lord made his way down the hall to his grandmother’s private chambers and settled himself on the floor next to her rocking chair. 

“Babcia,” he asked. “Why don’t Mother and Father let me go into the woods like the village children? They say they don’t want me getting lost, but surely Andrew or Netty could show me where it's safe. It's hard to play tag with only the hounds.”

“Ah, Jaskier,” she smiled. He always loved when she called him that; it was the word for _buttercup_ in her native tongue and the nickname was _all his._ “My darling child. Why do you want to go into the forest?”

“All the other children play at the edge of the trees. I want to join them but Mother and Father won’t let me. They don’t want me getting lost.”

The Widow Pankratz had heard the rumors spread by the peasants and soldiers who lived nearby. Some of the villagers insisted that their land was inhabited by the spirits of fallen soldiers. Others attributed the strange noises heard in the night to therianthropes or banshees. Jaskier’s own Nanny once warned him to keep a sharp eye out for any stray faeries on their way home from planting mushroom rings. The old woman patted her knee and waited for her grandson to clamber up. She wrapped one arm around him and gave her sweetest smile, “You are their only child, Julian. They don’t want you to disappear or get hurt.”

He frowned. “What could hurt me? There are only trees.”

“Haven’t you heard about the Big Bad White Wolf?”

“I thought there were only banshees and faeries and ghosts out there.”

“The Winter Court may roam your ancestral hills at their leisure and banshees may keep house at the old MacKinnish ruins, but their presence means nothing to the Lord and Lady Pankratz. They fear that if you wander too far into Carterhaugh Forest you’ll be eaten up by the Wolf and never return.”

“Wolves aren’t that scary,” Julian shrugged. He didn’t see the big deal. He played with all the time with his father’s large hunting dogs. The hounds were nearly three palms taller than him and he could still keep perfect pace when they raced in the practice yard together. Wolves couldn’t be so different, could they? “Why are Mother and Father scared of one wolf? Father is a very good hunter; Mother says so all the time. I don’t understand.”

“This is a very special kind of wolf, my sweet little Jaskier. Just promise me you’ll stay away from the trees.” The look on his grandmother’s face reminded him of the look his Mother got when his Father was called away to the War Council in Roxburgh. Her usually soft expression seemed twisted and pinched around the edges. Like someone had squished it inwards. He didn’t like seeing her with that face on, so he nodded his head and smiled.

“I promise, Babcia.”

“That’s my good boy.” She distracted him from that day's particular line of questioning with a biscuit and sent a worried glance out the dusty pane of glass in her window. She could see the edge of her son’s impressive property and the dark tangle of branches that lay beyond. She held Julian a little tighter in her arms and sent a quick prayer to the gods for his lifelong safety. _May he never meet the Wolf in Carterhaugh Forest,_ she pleaded with any deity that was listening. _May he never learn of the curse hanging over this land._

* * *

Julian’s red cloak tangled with his legs as he clambered over the trunk of a fallen tree. He paused his walk and scooped the bottom hem into his hand, looping it over his arm to keep it out of the way as he navigated the thick tree branches. The hooded cape was made of a deep scarlet wool and had been handmade by his grandmother for his sixteenth birthday. It was his most prized possession and it was the last gift she’d ever given him. He missed her more with every passing day, but there was nothing that could be done. Death came for everyone in their own time and her time had been two years ago, now.

He’d been mostly alone since the day they’d laid her to rest in the family crypt. _Adelaide Lavinia Pankratz_ carved into a granite slab that told where she lay, marking her place amongst the ghosts of Carterhaugh. Julian’s fingertips traced the pattern of embroidered leaves at the edge of his cloak as he waded through the underbrush and pushed aside wayward branches.

He picked his way over the muddy ground, continuing down his path and away from the keep. His brown leather boots danced nimbly around the rocks and twisted roots that carpeted the forest floor and seemed to dampen the sounds of nature on all sides. He’d been sneaking out and exploring Carterhaugh Forest for months without his parents’ knowledge. They were too busy fluttering around the royal court to keep track of their teenage son and the servants wouldn’t dare tell them about his adventures because he was the most forgiving Lord in the history of Castle Pankratz. He’d earned their loyalty and with it came their silence.

“There was a lady of the North Country

And she had lovely daughters three. 

There was a knight of noble worth 

Who also lived up in the North. 

A knight of courage, stout and brave; 

A wife he did desire to have,” Jaskier sang quietly to himself as he walked. “He knocked upon the lady's gate, 

One evening when it was late; 

The eldest sister let him in

And pin'd the door with a silver pin. 

The second sister made his bed 

And laid soft pillows for his head. 

The youngest sister, that same night, 

She went to bed with this young knight.”

He reached the only place where his secret path through the woods met with the road to Miles Cross. Countless wagon wheels had carved two parallel grooves into the hard ground and the trees thinned out further down where the forest gave way to farmland. Seeing no traders making their way towards the keep and seeing no soldiers making their way into town, Julian scampered quickly across the road and back into the cover of heavy foliage on the other side. Once he had jogged away from the road for a few minutes and was far enough into the woods to avoid being seen by any travelers, the young Lord resumed his song: “And in the morning, when it was day,

These words to her knight she did say:

'Now you have had your will,' quoth she,

'I pray, sir knight, will you marry me?'”

The light of the late springtime sun filtered beautifully down through the heavy canopy and Julian smiled gleefully as it dappled across his skin. If only he’d been brave enough to sneak out while his grandmother was still alive. He’d always promised her that he wouldn’t go outside the castle walls without an escort, cowed into good behavior by her constant stories of the Big Bad White Wolf, but he would have loved to share this path with her. The overprotective old woman never actually told him what was so scary about the wild animal, only that it would eat him up if it ever came upon him.

But Julian was eighteen, now. He was a _man._ He would soon receive the official title of _Lord Julian Alfred Pankratz, heir to Castle Pankratz and the Carterhaugh County Borough._ There would be a banquet with dancing, which he enjoyed. There would also be speeches, courting rituals with foreign families, and displays of strength in the Highland Games. Those were all terribly boring. Julian preferred the dancing and the wandering troubadours over everything else.

Being nobility was rather dull.

The soldiers who stayed in his father’s keep spoke loudly and often of their adventures to one another. Men younger than him had seen battle and wore their scars with pride. Meanwhile, Julian was sequestered in the library or the back garden. He listened to their stories while he learned how to run a household, how to eat a meal with a king, and how to speak with varying members of the nobility. His overzealous Father had also insisted on lessons in swordplay, which Julian took to with a surprising amount of enthusiasm (although it helped that he had some amount of natural talent). He understood that his life was, in many ways, a blessed one; he just wanted some adventure of his own. 

“The young brave knight to her replied:

'Thy suit, fair maid, shan’t be denied.

If thou canst answer my questions three,

This very day will I marry thee.'

'Kind sir, in love, O then,' quoth she,

'Tell me what your three questions be.'”

The birds and beasts of the forest would never learn of the knight’s three questions because Julian arrived rather suddenly at the edge of an unfamiliar clearing. 

“Well, this is certainly very unusual.”

The young Lord walked this same path three times a week, always staying close to the markers he left for himself. He knew this area of the woods like the back of his hand and this meadow was entirely new _._ It hadn’t been here two days ago. Neither had the small stone well at its center, surrounded by rose bushes in full bloom. _Who would plant roses around the edge of a well? The thorns must make pulling up water an even more sinister task than it already is. How foolish._

Even more surprising than the mysterious clearing or the rose-covered well was the large brown mare in full riding tack that stood in the shade nearby, munching happily on a small pile of fresh hay. Two large, heavy-looking swords hung from a belt that was tied around the pommel of the saddle. One was steel and the other looked to be made of silver; _who makes a sword out of silver?_ Julian took a slow step forward and stretched his arm out towards the horse as he’d been taught to do since childhood. “Ah, sweet lady, where is your companion?” he asked.

The horse did not reply.

He got close enough to gently pat the animal’s muzzle and the horse responded by chuffing gently against his palm. Her ears flickered back and forth but didn't slip back into an angry slant. She didn’t trust him but she wasn’t quick to anger, either. This was an animal Julian could get along with. “Do you have a name, fair maiden?” 

There was only the wet crunch of hay being chewed in lieu of a response, of course. Julian sighed and pulled a small dagger from his belt. He cut a bloom free from the rosebush, moving quickly to scrape the thorns from the stem with his thumbnail as his grandmother had once taught him. He tucked the flower behind his ear, anchoring the bloom against his temple. “Would you like one to match?” he asked the horse. She gave him a curious but unoffended glance before going back to her hay. 

“You there! Pull no more!” The voice was deep and angry and coming from the opposite side of the clearing. Julian startled and held out his dagger in the general direction of whoever was approaching. He could hear their footsteps now; heavy and loud over the short distance between them. 

“Who goes there?” Julian called out. He stood tall and held the dagger firmly, trying his best not to reveal his fear and uncertainty. He was, after all, the Lord of Carterhaugh borough. No one would be able to claim they killed a member of the Pankratz family who cowered in fear.

As Julian contemplated a route of escape, a tall man stepped into the clearing, hands raised before him to show his innocence and lack of immediate weaponry. The young Lord noted the dagger tied against the man’s waist. He also didn't forget the swords hanging from the horse. 

“Worry not, I am merely passing through.”

“That doesn’t answer my question, stranger,” Julian said. He ignored how wonderfully deep and rumbling the man’s voice was and how it made him feel weak in the knees. “Who _are_ you? Give me a name, a title, anything.”

The man had reached the horse by then and started running his hand down the animal’s neck with repeated sweeping motions, allowing the mare to catch his familiar scent. Julian kept his dagger steadily aimed for the stranger’s throat as he took a step forward. “You’d best not reach for those swords, good sir. Not until you give me a name.”

“What’s _your_ name, if you're so eager to get acquainted?” the man queried back. Julian kept his gaze steady and his stance strong. The stranger was older, taller, and broader than him; he could probably best Julian if he put his mind to it. This whole situation would pass more quickly if he lied and avoided being kidnapped for political purposes or ransom. Julian decided to use his grandmother’s old nickname for him. 

“My name is Jaskier and I’m growing rather impatient with your ignoring my question, good sir. Who are you and what are you doing in Carterhaugh Forest?”

“My apologies,” the man gave a deep bow, far deeper than necessary for Julian’s status or rank (if he'd even known it in the first place). His long silvery hair swept back out of his face as he stood, framing two twinkling amber eyes. Julian - now _Jaskier -_ nearly dropped his dagger when their gazes met; something mischievous hid behind the stranger's unusually colored irises. “My name, good Jaskier, is Geralt de Riv.” 

“Are you here to sign into the army at the keep?” the younger man questioned. Geralt smiled. 

“I’m afraid not. Just passing through, as I said.”

“Ah,” Jaskier nodded. He reached to pluck another rose blossom but Geralt stayed his hand by wrapping his own long fingers around Jaskier's wrist. The young Lord's mouth went dry and he tried to keep any impure thoughts at bay. _That kind of strength and dexterity is...impressive._

“I said pull no more.” 

“I shall pull what I wish,” Jaskier snorted. He yanked his wrist back from the other man’s grip and delicately adjusted the edge of his sleeve. “Carterhaugh Forest is my father’s property and will someday be mine. I won’t be told what I can and cannot have when all of it belongs to me.”

“If you’re that horrible Lord’s son then what are you doing in the forest all alone?”

The question was asked with quiet sincerity but Jaskier was bothered that his cover had been blown. If this really _was_ some bandit or assassin after himself or his father then this could be _very bad_ for him. _Someday I'll learn to keep my mouth shut. If I live to see another day at all._ Geralt waited for an answer, arms crossed over his chest once again. Jaskier fidgeted with the edge of his cloak. “My parents don’t spend many nights at the keep as of late,” he shrugged. He kicked a rock absentmindedly and watched it tumble over onto a set of tree roots. “And I’ve always wanted to explore the woods. Now that they’re away at court all the time, I can wander to my heart’s content. I’ve walked this path many times before but this clearing and this well are new. So are you.”

“Hmm. I’ve been exploring this forest far longer than you've been alive, little Lord Pankratz.”

“You know my family name?”

“I know the name of the keep,” Geralt nodded. “Your father owes me a favor.”

“Does it have to do with the Wolf?” The older man seemed to tense up at those words, drawing his shoulders forward like he was about to curl into a ball. Jaskier felt sorry for asking and quickly pulled the rose he’d already cleared of thorns from behind his ear. He held it towards Geralt with a hand that ached to tremble. “This would look lovely in your white hair.”

“Schneeweißchen und Rosenrot,” Geralt murmured, leaning forward and allowing Jaskier to tuck it behind his ear. The young Lord's heart was thundering ferociously in his chest at the gesture and he was glad the other man couldn't hear it. A blush was no doubt painting his cheeks as Geralt leaned away again. 

“What does that mean?” he asked, looking for any kind of distraction.

“It’s a children’s story from a country far away from here. It translates to _Snow White and Rose Red_.”

Jaskier's eyes trailed from Geralt's stark white hair to the crimson cape wrapped around his shoulders and he bit his lip. _Snow White and Rose Red, indeed._ He looked back up into Geralt’s golden eyes and tried not to blush even harder under such an intense gaze. “Where are you traveling to?”

“Miles Cross, then Roxburgh.”

“To court?”

“Aye,” the man nodded, smirking again. Jaskier rather liked the sight of that quirking half-smile; somehow both domineering and endlessly shy. Like Geralt didn’t know whether to blush under his attention or challenge him to a duel over his impertinence. The Lord desperately wanted to see it again.

“My grandmother once told me that Morgan le Fay kept her Winter Court in these woods,” Jaskier gestured around dramatically, pitching his voice like his Babcia had done when she told such stories. “She taught me to walk backwards out of faerie rings and always keep a bit of wine in my pocket in case I happen upon some mischievous sprites.”

“And do you?”

Jaskier pulled a small crystal vial from the pocket of his trousers and waved it in front of the stranger’s face. A blood-red liquid swirled within. “I am not a fool.”

“Is it good wine?”

“I’m offended that you’d even ask such a question,” he mock-pouted, throwing the back of his hand against his forehead. “It’s French wine, so of _course_ it’s going to be good.”

“I prefer beer.”

“Well it’s not for y-” Jaskier’s eyes bugged out halfway through his sentence, realizing rather suddenly that this man very well _could_ be Fae. The path had changed, the horse was nice...this could very easily be some kind of Unseelie trap. “Unless you’d like it, of course. I can always get more.”

“Are you offering sincerely or because you’ve suddenly grown afraid of offending me and my potentially magical sensibilities?”

“If I say ‘both’ am I in less trouble?”

“No.”

“Then it’s a little bit of both,” Jaskier shrugged. He handed Geralt the crystal vial and watched him drink it all in one gulp. 

“You were right, that is good wine.”

“I picked it out myself,” the young Lord preened. “I’m in charge of most of the food and wine stores at the keep. Unless it’s for the soldiers, then it’s my father’s responsibility to handle such things while he’s at court.”

“You talk a lot.”

"Can't be helped."

"I heard you singing earlier. That _was_ you, wasn't it? You warble like a bird."

"Is that supposed to be an insult or a compliment?"

Geralt smirked again but didn't answer, turning away to fuss with something in his horse's saddlebag. After a few moments of comfortable silence he turned back around and handed something to Jaskier. "Consider this my thanks for the refreshment and the friendly conversation."

"I threatened you with a knife."

"And I probably bruised your wrist. What of it?"

"Do you meet all your friends in such strange ways?"

"Who said we were friends?" Geralt chuckled darkly. The sound sent twin pangs of sadness and _something else_ ricocheting through the young Lord's chest.

"Me, I suppose. Just now."

"Hmm."

"What is it, anyway?" 

"Should the Morrigan ever find you wandering," Geralt explained, lifting the small amulet from the Lord's palm and lowering over Jaskier's head to settle against his clavicle, "This will keep you safe."

"Thank you, good sir Geralt. I'm glad we've met."

"Hmm."

Jaskier looked down to inspect the small silver medallion and found himself staring at the likeness of a wolf. When he looked back up to ask Geralt where he'd gotten such a thing, the white-haired man and his horse were gone. 

The Lord was all alone in Carterhaugh Forest once again. 

* * *

That night Jaskier had a terrible nightmare.

_He was riding down the path towards Miles Cross when his horse suddenly bolted, crashing into the forest and away from civilization. He heard a young woman laughing coldly, her lilting voice filling his consciousness from all sides. It seemed as if she was speaking directly into his mind:_

_"When the lark no longer sings his tune,_

_And the sky is full with the shining moon_

_Your spine shall crack, your shoulders bend,_

_Your eyes shall change, your clothes shall rend._

_No longer will you be a Knight,_

_But instead a wolf of wintry white;_

_Until the one whose love is_ _true_

_Holds fast and keeps their arms 'round you:_

_From snake to bear to lion strong_

_We'll burn their arms with you erelong._

_But when you are a fiery brand_

_Your love must toss you from their hand;_

_For once you are in water cooled_

_A knight you'll be, my curse o'er-ruled."_

_As her voice faded his horse slowed to a standstill. They were next to the rosy well again, Jaskier's mount breathing heavily beneath him. A large white-furred wolf stood across from him, head raised and tail wagging slightly. The wolf's eyes were a strangely familiar shade of amber. He couldn't remember where he'd seen that color before but it stirred something in his chest._

The young Lord woke up covered in thin layer of cold sweat. A bright, full moon shone in through his window and in the distance he could hear the howling of a wolf. 


	2. The Chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> blood tw, injury tw, animal transformation sequence is kinda descriptive but not too gory or anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took me a bit longer to edit because I decided to change like 1/2 the plot of this story all of a sudden. It's much better now, though. So there's that!
> 
> "The Chase" - Brigadoon

_ Go and stop him! Stop him! _

_ Go and stop him! Stop him! _

_ Run, ye Highland men, or ye won't ken another day. _

_ \-- _

_If he comes into sight, hold him fast!_

_Many lives are depending on it!_

_This must not end tonight!_

_They must know that tomorrow is really gonna come!_

* * *

Geralt rode into Miles Cross around midday and made his way towards the Oak and Acorn. He’d boarded Roach in their stables many times before and he knew that the boy they kept on hand could be trusted to take care of her properly. When he reached the gate to the distinctively large barn he dismounted and took his mare by the reins. The white-haired knight calmed her easily with a few gentle pats on the neck and a slice of dried apple from his saddlebag.

“Lochlan?” he called, circling around the side of the building. “Are you there, lad? It’s me, Geralt.”

“Sir de Riv!” A beaming, copper-haired boy popped around the side of the detached pole barn, pitchfork in hand. He’d grown at least six inches since the last time Geralt had visited; they could almost see eye-to-eye. Lochlan laid a gentle hand on Roach’s flank and stroked her softly. Almost as lovingly as Geralt did. The boy glanced up at him with eager eyes, “Are you leaving this lovely lady here for me to take care of?”

“It would be most kind of you to do so,” Geralt nodded. The way Lochlan spoke of Roach reminded him of the way he’d heard Jaskier talking to her that morning in the woods; referring to her as  _ my lady  _ and  _ fair maiden.  _ “I’ll pay you the usual fee, of course. There’s a whole extra ducat in it for you alone if you promise to make sure she’s well groomed before I return.”

“Of course, sir!” Lochlan continued to grin. Geralt had never met a happier child. Well...maybe one. Jaskier wasn’t really a child, though. He was an adult. He should really be married already and - Geralt cut off his own train of thought. He needed to focus. It was going to be a rough couple of nights, after all. He’d given the blessed medallion away and now the Morrigan could see his presence in the forest again. She could seek him out if she still cared to look for him. “I’ll have her usual stall made up. Would you like anything to eat? The lady of the house is making pottage.”

“I’m alright, thank you.”

“More for me,” the boy joked. Geralt nodded and handed the boy his usual two crown boarding fee. “Three days time, like usual?”

“Aye, lad. Three days.”

“See you then, Sir de Riv.”

“See you then, Lochlan.”

Without another word, Geralt turned and made his way back towards the woods. He had a lot to think about before the sun set and the curse took hold. He had a lot to consider.

_ Jaskier is your Child Surprise,  _ one part of his mind suggested.  _ You have every right to take him from the keep and run away with him. You can show him how kind you are. How tender you can be. He’ll never want for affection again. He’ll never have the acrid, stinking stench of loneliness clinging to every inch of his skin again. You can show him happiness if only you do what destiny intended and  _ take  _ the boy.  _

Another, more rational part interrupted. Thank the gods.  _ He’s a noble past the point of marriageable age. He’ll be making his own decisions soon, as long as he settles down with the woman his parents provide and she bears an heir. He’ll be like a lamb to slaughter, used for his bloodline and his wealth. That is his lot in life, regardless of your foolish claim. Lord Pankratz chose not to fulfill his promise and you never stepped in to force his hand. It’s your fault that you can’t have him, Geralt. Live with it.  _

He'd barely been more than a boy when he'd called on the Law of Surprise to begin with. Geralt had been a squire when the war started and he'd gone into battle alongside Lord MacKinnish. The adrenaline was all he could think about after he'd pulled Lord Pankratz out of the way of a deadly crossbow bolt, saving his life. He thought the Law of Surprise would provide him with a new horse or perhaps a bit of gold when the war ended. He hadn't known what to do in the face of his actions when, six years and one knighthood later, the indebted Lord said: "I won't give you my only son and heir" and slammed the door of Castle Pankratz in his face for good. 

The Morrigan's curse had been even worse, then. He'd terrorized the lands belonging to his Child Surprise and trapped the poor boy within the castle gates as a result.

The shade of the heavy greenery was welcoming as he ducked into the trees. The damp smell of dirt and sap filled his lungs and cleared his mind. So what if Jaskier was his Child Surprise? The boy was clever. He was sweet. He would make a fine Lord someday. If he was lucky enough, Geralt would live to see these pleasant imaginings come to pass. If he didn’t…

Oh well. Better to die cursed than live alone and apart from the one fate intended for you.

* * *

“Geralt, darling,” a smooth, melodic voice purred next to his ear. The surprised knight stiffened and his breath caught in his throat. He knew exactly who that velvet tone belonged to and he wasn’t excited to see her; quite the opposite, really.  _ Fuck. I had hoped that she lost interest in this stupid game. It’s been so long.  _ She gave a short, overly-sad sigh before continuing, “It is  _ so _ nice to see you again. I was beginning to think you were avoiding me.”

“Morgana,” he greeted curtly. “I was.”

“Disappointing,” the sorceress smiled. One of her delicate but powerful hands traced a line from his left shoulder to his right, pausing to tug at his hair as it passed across the back of his neck. He bit back a snarl at the twinge of pain in his scalp. It was never a good idea to challenge or provoke this particular sorceress. “I’ve missed you so much since last we spoke.”

“Oh, we were  _ speaking,  _ were we?” Geralt huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “I’m pretty sure cursing the man who rejected your attempted seduction is  _ not  _ considered regular conversation, my Lady.”

“Perhaps not,” she shrugged, coming around to face him. She was still just as beautiful as the day she’d come upon him on that stupid fucking hunt. That had been just over eighteen __ years ago. The curse prevented him from aging any further, either. They stood face-to-face, timeless beneath the summer shade. Her hair, waist-length and darker than a raven’s wing in the night, was loose and wild around her face. Her green eyes narrowed as she focused on his face and Geralt felt the uncomfortable pinching of magic at the forefront of his mind. He did what he could to block her out but it was much harder without the magic of the amulet around his neck. “Why won’t you let me in, my sweet Wolf? What lovely, naughty thoughts are you keeping all to yourself up there? What exactly is it that you don’t want me to see?”

“They’re my thoughts, Morgana. I can do with them as I please. I can keep them from or give them to whoever I deem worthy; which you are not.”

“You  _ belong _ to me, remember? I’m the only one who can free you from this spell, after all. If you’d just let me-”

“You’re not the only one. You said my true love could break the spell.”

“Is that why you won’t let me in?” The sorceress let out a ringing laugh. It wasn’t a kind sound; it carried anger and annoyance as it echoed through the trees of Carterhaugh Forest. It was darkly possessive and Geralt was suddenly glad that he’d given the silver wolf medallion to Jaskier. A knight of his strength and renown could deal with Morgana on his own but the sheltered son of an idiot Lord would have fallen prey to her powers immediately. He’d be dead in an instant, or worse: under Morgana’s merciless thrall. Geralt was glad that he’d chosen to protect his Child Surprise (more of an Adult Surprise now) over himself. 

“Leave me be, Morgana. Tonight the full moon rises and we both know what that means.”

“It  _ means,  _ my dearest knight errant, that we’re going to play such a lovely game of fetch,” the witch smirked. Geralt’s blood turned cold in his veins and panic grappled to overtake his conscious mind.  _ No. Please, gods, no. Not so close to Pankratz Castle. Please tell me she doesn’t know about the Lord or his promise. Please tell me she doesn’t know about Jaskier. _

“I don’t take orders from villains, Morgana,” he snarled, reaching for the knife at his belt. She stopped him mid-movement with a careless wave of her hand.

“Heel, pup. Now’s not the time for such baseless chivalry. We both know you’ve done more than kill a few sheep in the past.”

“Don’t make me hurt anyone, my Lady,  _ please.”  _ The knight begged, still paralyzed by her powers. He  _ had  _ done things. Things he hated himself more for every passing day; things he wished were forgivable. “I’ll do anything.”

“The time has passed for making deals and coming to a compromise.” 

The sun finally dipped entirely below the horizon and Geralt could feel his heartbeat speeding up. He’d be transforming soon. He’d be a danger to everyone and anyone who happened across his path.  _ Please go to sleep in your locked chamber tonight, Jaskier. Please don’t go wandering through the woods in search of adventure. Wait until dawn. Wait...  _ and then all thought vanished from his mind, overtaken by the rushing fire in his legs and spine. His head snapped back and he dropped to his knees in the dirt. He howled with all his might, trying in every way he knew how to relieve some of the crippling pain that wrenched his limbs into new and different positions. Bones snapped. Muscles shrunk and twisted. Fur emerged. Morgana was beaming the whole time, her cold emerald gaze fixed rather joyfully on the suffering of her favorite pet. 

“Ah, my sweet and vicious darling. What games we shall play beneath the light of the moon.”

There was no reply from Geralt. 

Standing where the knight had just been, yellow eyes still dark with hatred and ears pinned back against his head in submission, was a large white wolf. 

* * *

Jaskier didn’t go into the woods the next day. He had lessons to finish and orders to write out for the keep’s monthly supply run. He also had to write down his instructions for the smithy in Miles Cross. The young Lord wanted to have a very specific dagger made and the blacksmith to the keep was only good for shoeing horses and repairing damaged armor. This job would require finesse and an eye for detail. Something he could only get in town from a true artisan. “Donald,” he called out. His attendant appeared moments later and slid through the door. He bowed his head respectfully but only for a split second. His eyes met Jaskier’s in the mirror where the young Lord was fixing his hair and adjusting his doublet. 

“Milord?”

“Ah, none of that, Donald. You know better. I need to make a run into Miles Cross and Carterhaugh Proper today. Can you arrange an escort for me? I should be down in an hour or so.”

“Of course, Jask. I’ll see to it right away.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sir.”

When the servant had disappeared down the hall again, Jaskier pulled the wolf medallion out from under his shirt and examined it. The detail was wanting but the craftsmanship was solid. It would not bend, snap, or chip so long as he took decent care of it (which he absolutely intended to do). He hoped that Geralt would be travelling back through Carterhaugh by the time the dagger was finished. The Lord wanted to pay him back for such an intriguing and unusually timed gift. 

He couldn’t understand why Geralt had given it to him at all. It seemed to have some kind of sentimental value and Jaskier, after all, was merely a stranger. Despite his confusion, he remembered what the tall, handsome knight had said when he’d lowered it over his head. The way his heart had sped up when the silver of the necklace tapped against his chest; it felt like a tiny coronation. Geralt’s deep, wonderful voice rang in his head like thunder in the distance: “ _ Should the Morrigan ever find you wandering, this will keep you safe.”  _

Jaskier wondered what the knight meant by that. Who was the Morrigan? Was she dangerous? How could a necklace keep him safe from a person? The young man had many questions and every single one of them followed him as he tied his red cloak around his shoulders and made his way down the stairs and out of the keep. They plagued his mind as he and one of his father’s more talkative knights headed down the road towards Miles Cross. The strange man’s words floated in front of his eyes and flickered like lightning bugs as he desperately tried to understand their meaning. 

“Who is the Morrigan?” the Lord suddenly asked. He was surprised to see a brief moment of panic and fear cross his escort’s face. 

“Best not to say that name in these woods,” the man muttered lowly. Jaskier had to focus hard to hear him. “She’s a powerful witch, she is. They say she can turn a man into a newt or a frog. She can kill you just by whispering your name through the lock of your chamber door. If you offend her then she’ll make you one of the animals in her menagerie and keep you in the forest forever.”

“Hmm.” Jaskier glanced at the front of his shirt where the amulet was safely hidden. He felt it tap against his clavicle every time his horse jostled him in the saddle; it made him feel significantly safer to be wearing the little silver disc.  _ It’s just a necklace,  _ he reminded himself.  _ Nothing special about it.  _

The two young men made it into town without incident, but when they arrived at the market square they realized that Miles Cross was in terrible disarray. Baskets of produce laid tipped on their sides on the ground, their contents strewn across the ground and partially trampled. Long swathes of tartan fabric had been torn to shreds and floated across the ground in little strings of color. There wasn’t any blood mixed with the dirt but Jaskier also didn’t see any sheep or cows for sale. It didn’t bode well for the area’s livestock. 

“What’s happened?” Jaskier cried. The young Lord leapt down from his horse and hurried to the aid of a crying woman. “What’s going on, fair lady? How can I be of assistance?”

“The Wolf,” she sobbed, laying her head against Jaskier’s shoulder. He saw that she was clutching a broken pot in her hands, emptied of some important liquid contents. Milk or butter, most likely. “It’s all the fault of that damnable Wolf!”

“What does he have to do with any of this?”

“Last night was the full moon,” a middle-aged man interrupted. He gathered the shards of broken clay from the woman’s hands and offered her a scrap of linen to dry her tears. Jaskier ran a hand up and down her back absentmindedly, as his Babcia had done when he was young and frightened. “It’s been years since he’s attacked, but last night he was in a fierce mood. He killed three sheep before the shepherd could stop him and growled at the boy until he turned white as a ghost and ran away. The poor lad still hasn’t spoken a word.”

“Was there any area of town left undamaged?”

“Aye, Milord. The only animals in town that seem to have been spared are the horses being boarded in Madam O’Toole’s barn over at the Oak and Acorn.”

“Thank you, good sir.” Jaskier called for his escort and demanded that the young soldier return to the keep and summon more assistance. When he resisted, the young Lord brushed him away. “I won’t go back through the woods alone,” he promised. “But these people need more strong bodies to mend what’s possible and rebuild what isn’t. They’ll need a guard set in place for tonight as well. I want enough soldiers here to form a solid perimeter around the village; seventy five should do it. Tell them to bring extra supplies. Hurry!”

He’d never been so grateful for his riches or his status before in his life. At least he could use them to help the villagers back to their feet now that his father wasn’t here to object or question his decisions. Maybe, if they caught the Wolf, Lord Pankratz might even be  _ proud  _ of Jaskier for once.

After watching the panicked soldier beat a hasty retreat to the barracks of the keep, Jaskier made his way to the Oak and Acorn. The inn itself was modestly sized but it had a fantastic set of stables jutting out from behind the main building. Jaskier made his way in through the front door and hurried to the counter. “Innkeep, may I see your stables? I’d like to take inventory of any damaged structures or injured animals.”

“No need, Milord. Nothing was touched.”

“May I take a look anyhow? If nearly every home in the village saw some terror except this one, I’d like to see why.”

“I had nothing to do with it,” the portly man said. There was real fear in his eyes and the young Lord felt for the man. “I don’t know why we were spared, though I can’t say I’m ungrateful.”

“There’s no blame to be placed, yet,” Jaskier reassured him. “I just wish to investigate so I know what to tell my Father and, if necessary, the King.”

“Aye, Milord. Take as long as you need.”

“Thank you. And here,” he set a handful of gold on the counter. “Take some bread and beer to the people outside. They’re going to need their strength.”

The man gawked. “Thank you, Milord.”

“It’s my duty to help where I can with what I have.”

* * *

The first thing Jaskier noticed when he entered the stable was a familiar brown mare with a white diamond on her forehead standing in the closest stall to the door. He beamed and reached out a hand to pet her front flank. “Roach! Darling lady, where is your rider hiding?”

“You know Sir Geralt?” A coppery head peered over one of the other stalls, a pair of wide green eyes locked with Jaskier’s. The boy, probably no more than fifteen years old and skinny as a broom handle, came around the door and gave Jaskier a measured look. “Aren’t you the Lord Pankratz’s son?”

“Aye, I’m Jaskier. Pleasure to meet you, goodfellow…”

“My name is Lochlan, Milord.”

“Well, Goodfellow Lochlan, I do know Geralt. We made acquaintances just yesterday as he was riding into town. Where is he now?”

“I don’t know. He won’t be back to town for another day or so.”

“So he’s boarded her?”

“What business is that of yours?” the boy asked, crossing his arms over his chest. The gesture reminded the young Lord of Geralt and he smiled warmly. Clearly the boy idolized the white-haired knight. 

“I am rather indebted to Sir Geralt,” he explained. “I’d like to find him and pay him back.”

“Did he help you, too?”

“Aye. Did he help you?”

“Saved me from a wild bear, once. Brought me home and told my father he’d already given me a hiding so I wouldn’t get punished for wandering off.”

“What a kind and clever man.”

“Aye, Sir Geralt is the kindest knight in all of Scotland!”

“He has a noble and chivalrous heart.”

“Yeah. Those are good words,” Lochlan grinned. It was lopsided and filled Jaskier’s heart with warmth. “I always polish his saddle and tack extra well when he visits. Sometimes, when he has a spare moment, he’ll tell me a story about his adventures before he leaves.”

“I’m sure Sir Geralt will be upset that he wasn’t here to defend the village from the Wolf,” Jaskier sighed. His fingers drifted to play with the medallion at the base of his throat. “It’s too bad he was otherwise occupied. I’m sure he would have kept much of the damage from being done.”

Lochlan nodded but remained silent. Jaskier took that opportunity to politely end the conversation and finish taking inventory of the building. It was going to be a long day, he knew. He’d have to organize a patrol around the edges of the village, keep enough sentries present to rotate a night watch, and get the food supplies sorted correctly. He’d need to make a system for keeping track of who needed what and who distributed those things efficiently. 

Thank the gods he’d been stuck in the library running through endless practice scenarios like this one his entire childhood. Now he had people to use those skills for;  _ his  _ people. The people his mother’s family had long protected before the last Lord Foulis had no sons and married her off to some Polish Viscount to keep the castle full of noble blood. When Castle Pankratz had been Foulis Manor things had been better. Jaskier was determined to turn things back around after his father finally died and left the land to him. Maybe he’d take his mother’s name back and reinstate Foulis Manor to its original highland glory. 

But those were dreams for another time.

Miles Cross needed him  _ now.  _ They needed him to protect them from the Big Bad White Wolf of Carterhaugh Forest. 

* * *

Morgana didn’t return to torture him the second night.

Or the third. 

When she didn’t arrive again on the last night of his transformation, Geralt took the opportunity to check in on the villagers and see if they were recovering from his violent attack. He couldn’t even remember exactly what he’d done when the horrid sorceress took possession of his mind. He was just a puppet to her magical whims, a toy that she could come and fiddle with before leaving it broken in a ditch somewhere. The Morrigan was a fickle creature and while Geralt amused her, his pain and self-loathing could be boring after a while. 

Until she thought of some fresh torment.

He felt guilt settling heavy in his gut as he passed several cow carcasses laid at the edge of a field.  _ They need those animals to survive the winter. Fucking hells.  _ There were still fires burning in and around Miles Cross, which was unusual. There weren’t enough people there to keep a night watch and there was no way Lord Pankratz would send his men to stand guard. That would be inconvenient and expensive, or at least those were the excuses he’d given last time Morgana played ‘fetch’ with Geralt. 

As the tired werewolf slunk through the shadows towards the edge of the village he heard a series of long and familiar whistles. Someone was alerting the watch of his presence. Someone had seen him and sounded the alarm.  _ Fuck. Jaskier sent soldiers to keep vigil at the edge of town. Lord Pankratz isn’t even at the keep; he  _ told  _ you about it not two days ago. Gods damn it all.  _ The White Wolf took off at a sprint in the direction of the forest, hoping to outrun any foolish soldier that tried to give chase. Geralt was too fast for the men to go after him, as he suspected.

Their arrows, however, were another issue entirely.

The sun was rising over the horizon as Geralt collapsed next to the well. The arrow protruding from his right shoulder only made the transformation from wolf to man more excruciating. He couldn’t hold back the savage scream that tore from his throat as soon as it was physically able. The pain was unbearable. The pounding of his blood in his ears was louder than the crashing of the sea against the rocks of the coast. 

_ Maybe it’s better to leave this world before I can hurt anyone else in it,  _ he thought. He had to be dying. This was too intense to be anything other than the edge of Death. His vision had fled him or he couldn’t open his eyes; either way, the world was all darkness and gentle shadow.  _ Forgive me, Jaskier, for never introducing myself properly. For never telling you what or who you really are to me. What you mean to me. I’m so sorry.  _

He knew he was well and truly dead when that soft, sunny tenor suddenly called his name: “Geralt, is that you? What’s happened? Are you still alive, please, Geralt, what can I do to help?”

“J-Jaskier,” he grinned. Was he, a cursed man, being allowed to enter Heaven? “My f-fated one, I’m s-sorry.”

Finally, secure in the arms of the one destiny chose for him, the White Wolf passed out from shock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh I'm having so much fun. Please gimme a little validation.


	3. As Long as You're Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> tw mild violent imagery (very short and it's only in the dream sequence at the end so just skip that if you're a bit squeamish)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just really needed some tender, soft Geralt moments so here we go. The h/c chapter!
> 
> "As Long as You're Mine" - Wicked
> 
> It's about to get Complicated.

_ Kiss me too fiercely, _

_ Hold me too tight. _

_ I need help believing _

_ You're with me tonight. _

_ \--- _

_ My wildest dreamings _

_ Could not foresee _

_ Lying beside you, _

_ With you wanting me. _

* * *

Geralt surged into wakefulness with a gasp. He sat up straight for only a moment before the pain of his wounds caught up with his body and threw him back against the soft surface of a goose-down cot. His amber eyes glanced frantically around the unfamiliar stone chamber and only stopped when they landed on a familiar figure in the corner. Jaskier was standing just across the unusually tiny room with his shirtsleeves rolled up to his elbows. The knight listened to the sound of water being poured into a basin and tried to figure out what was going on.

Jaskier was standing with his back to Geralt and he hummed as he rinsed his hands and dried them on a towel. Geralt realized with some shame that the young noble was washing  _ blood  _ off his hands and arms. The sticky red substance had stained the sleeves of Jaskier’s finely embroidered shirt and the hem of his trousers as well.  _ Did he drag me to safety and tend to my injuries himself? A Lord, who could have easily handed me off to the servants, took care of me personally? _

Jaskier turned around and jumped slightly when their gazes met. “Good gods! Geralt! Are you okay? How is the pain? Can you speak?”

“Ow.”

The young Lord gave a breathless laugh and fell to his knees beside the pallet. His hands fluttered over Geralt’s bandaged torso like twin birds, too nervous to land. Finally he set them on the edge of the mattress, painfully far away from the knight’s partially-bared skin. Geralt’s shoulder and upper chest were heavily bandaged, wrapped in clean white linen that looked more expensive than the shirt he’d been wearing before his transformation. He smelled the woody-sweet scent of myrrh beneath the wrappings and blanched. There was no way he could pay Jaskier back for such expensive healing materials. The young man seemed to sense his discomfort and started talking as fast as his tongue would allow. 

“I’m so glad you’re awake! I thought you were going to bleed to death in my arms next to that stupid fucking well! Roach and I managed to bring you to the castle and my servant helped me sneak you into the secret room behind my study. They’ll never find you here, so you can stay as long as it takes you to heal. Does your shoulder hurt? What happened to you? Where have you been for the last three days?” 

Geralt couldn’t hide the guilty, heartbroken expression that flashed across his face quite fast enough. Jaskier, for all his clumsiness and youth, was perceptive enough to catch the way his facial muscles tightened and twisted. The grimace of unbelievable, unimaginable guilt and horror. One of the Lord’s hands flew up to cover his mouth. His breathing had slowed and his eyes grew round with understanding. “Oh, my sweet Geralt. Eowen said he’d gotten an arrow into the Wolf but when nobody found the body we all assumed he had missed. Oh,  _ Geralt,  _ you poor thing _.  _ If I hadn’t been so worried about you getting attacked by that animal I wouldn’t have been there to save you at all. Thank the gods I can never do what I’m told.”

_ He went into the woods to warn me about the Wolf attack? He risked his own life to try and save mine?  _ The injured knight couldn’t take the gentle tone of Jaskier’s voice. It was going to kill him. There wasn’t an  _ ounce  _ of anger to be found there. Only horrified understanding and shock. Geralt could still smell the bitter musk of loneliness on Jaskier, ever-present beneath his more prevalent emotions, but it was overpowered by sadness and - and  _ compassion _ ? 

There was no fear. 

There was no hatred. 

No matter how deeply Geralt tried to breathe in through his nose, no matter how he focused on every infinitesimal change in Jaskier’s natural scent, he could not find a solitary hint of negative feeling towards himself. A tear slipped from one of his amber eyes, dropping down to land on the back of Jaskier’s other hand. 

“Jaskier, I-”

“Shh, Geralt. You’ve been asleep for nearly four days. You lost a lot of blood in the woods and you shouldn’t be straining yourself too much. You don’t have to explain yourself right away. Or at all, if you don’t want to.”

“Thank you, Jaskier.”

“Of course,” the Lord replied easily, as if there was no other course of action available. As if the thought of leaving Geralt there to die had never even crossed his mind.  _ It might not have,  _ some hopeful part of him suggested.  _ He might have pulled you to safety without even realizing he was doing it. Because he wanted you to live. _

Which is exactly what had happened. Jaskier had made up a rather convincing lie about Geralt being an injured knight from a neighboring keep. He dragged the wounded man to the barracks infirmary right away and made sure his shoulder was properly looked after. While Geralt was being sewn up, Jaskier hid Roach in his personal stable where she would be far from the prying eyes of officers and soldiers. Donald had helped him carry the unconscious knight from the infirmary to the hidden chamber nestled behind the tapestry in his study. He told the soldiers that Geralt had left back to his own keep at first light and they’d believed him, of course. There was no reason not to believe the Lord of the Estate. An injured knight errant wasn’t the oddest thing to happen in Carterhaugh by far.

The room Jaskier had sequestered Geralt in was hidden well behind a wall in his personal study. He knew with great confidence that his father had quite forgotten about the secret chamber and wouldn’t come prying after any strange noises or odd thuds. Jaskier could tend to the knight’s many injuries at the drop of a hat and keep him safe from any further harm while he recovered, so long as he kept him close and away from curious eyes. His heart fluttered in his chest thinking about the fact that they'd be sleeping mere feet apart, as well. He didn't know why but the thought was oddly comforting.

“You talk in your sleep, you know,” Jaskier teased, trying to lighten the mood. Geralt looked utterly horrified and the younger man giggled.

The bubbly, happy sound of Jaskier's joy washed over Geralt like the first rays of the morning sun, warming him from somewhere deep within and making his skin tingle. He couldn’t deny the otherworldly force drawing him towards the other man. Everything the brunette boy did seemed to enchant him, heart and soul. He tried to keep his composure when he replied, “I hope I didn’t say anything untoward in my dreams, Milord.”

“Geralt, please. None of that  _ Milord  _ stuff around me, thank you. I much prefer  _ Jaskier.  _ If you insist on being formal I’m afraid I’ll have to beat you senseless with this lovely feather pillow, and then what will you lay your lovely white head on to sleep?”

“Jaskier,” he tried again. “I hope I didn’t disturb you with my...oddities.”

“You make it sound as if your very existence should bring me offense.”

“Doesn’t it?”

The hurt that suddenly filled Jaskier’s beautiful blue eyes made Geralt’s heart seize in his scarred chest. It should be blasphemy for such an expression to ever grace this angel’s face. His already labored breath caught when their gazes met. The Lord extended his hand, placing it nervously against the skin of Geralt’s stubbled cheek. Jaskier breathed out unsteadily and a bright and floral scent clung to his words as he spoke: “Your existence is rather wonderful, actually. I haven’t been able to get you out of my head since we stumbled upon each other in the forest. I had a dream about you that very night, actually. I was mad with worry when you didn’t wake up yesterday. Or today. You kept calling my name, Geralt. You kept calling me  _ fated  _ and telling someone called Morgana ‘no’. You kept repeating yourself over and over until your fever broke.”

Geralt didn’t know what to say in reply so he stayed silent. 

“You knew who I was long before we met at the well, didn’t you?” Geralt lowered his eyes, his cheeks flushing red with shame and yet more guilt. He couldn’t bring himself to tell the truth. Jaskier could have such a wonderful existence without the White Wolf there to ruin everything. Cursed or not, the life of a knight was dangerous and uncertain. It wouldn’ be fair to ask for such a sacrifice from this sunny, smiling creature. The Lord was meant to do good for the people of Carterhaugh and Miles Cross; Geralt couldn’t be selfish and steal that hopeful future from them by telling him the truth. The stubborn boy would insist on handing himself over and doing what was right. After the knight’s long silence, Jaskier took his hand away. Geralt bit back a whine at the loss of contact. He felt incomplete without it. Empty. “You won’t tell me about what started all this White Wolf bullshit, will you?”

The Lord’s question was met with more of Geralt’s stony, shame-filled silence. 

Jaskier sighed and nodded once in understanding. He stood and made his way over to the door. He put his hand on the knob and looked back over his shoulder at Geralt, “If you need anything just knock three times on this door. It’s hidden beneath a tapestry in my room where I know my father won’t look for it. You can do whatever you need in here without fear of being interrupted. I won’t come in unless you summon me.”

“Three knocks.”

“Mhm. Sleep well, Geralt. There’s food and light ale on the table when you’re ready. I left a few changes of clean clothes and some candles in the chest for you as well. Your swords and saddlebags are underneath your cot.”

“Thank you again, Milord.”

The young Lord smiled wanly at the word  _ Milord _ and exited the tiny room. Geralt heard a soft shuffling noise as the tapestry was lowered back into place, concealing the door to his tiny room from the other side. He ran the hand of his uninjured arm over his face, breathing roughly out through his nose. 

_ Fuck. You had an easy opening to tell him  _ everything  _ and you decided not to take it? Idiot! Now he’s sad and this whole room reeks of loneliness and you’re no further along in breaking the fucking curse. Damnit, Geralt, everything you’ve ever wanted is right in front of you! All you have to do is tell him the truth. _

“Fuck.”

* * *

Jaskier was crying. He didn’t know  _ why  _ he was crying, but there were definitely three soiled handkerchiefs piled next to the head of his bed and tear stains splotching the normally smooth skin of his cheeks. “What’s  _ wrong  _ with me?” he wondered aloud. “I don’t even know what’s making me so upset!”

He couldn’t get the sound of Geralt’s raspy, sleep-addled voice out of his head. The knight had tossed and turned atop his flimsy pallet, too exhausted to move his body but still too alert to rest his mind. He’d called for the Lord in his nightmares, sometimes even reaching out with his uninjured arm as if he could sense the younger man in the room with him.  _ “Jaskier, please, don’t go. No - Morgana, NO! F-fated. Jaskier. Fated to - no, please, Morgana. Don’t - Jask, no…”  _ It had gone on like that for three solid days. Nothing but soft, heartbroken pleading interspersed with  _ Jaskier  _ and  _ Morgana.  _

The young Lord’s confused misery was interrupted by a strange and ominous  _ thud  _ from the direction of his study. 

_ Fuck.  _

He hurriedly wiped his eyes on his sleeves before dashing through his apartments and facing the tapestry in front of the secret door. He noted with some level of amusement that the tapestry in question had been made by his Babcia and depicted the Big Bad White Wolf standing before a young boy in a red cape. The wolf was smiling and the boy was holding out one gentle hand, palm up. The other hand held a silver sword. 

He remembered the day she started this picture. She had set him down on her lap and let him feel the heavy green velvet beneath his fingers before she’d begun the sewing.  _ “It’s a story about your future, Jaskier. It’s a story about your father and the curse he put upon this land by breaking a great promise and tarnishing this family’s honor. This will be the image of your destiny, my little Julian.” _

He shook the memory from his mind, trying to keep another wave of tears from crashing forward, and opened the small wooden door. “Geralt, I heard a strange sound. Are you alright?”

The knight in question was lying on his back on the hard stone floor. His face was pinched and his breathing was shallow; Jaskier looked on in horror as Geralt’s body twisted and contorted in pain. “Geralt! Stay still or you’ll tear your stitches out!” 

He rushed forward, dropping to his knees beside the wounded knight and laying both of his palms against the larger man’s chest. He tried to hold him down and stop him from yanking out the string holding his shoulder closed but Geralt was  _ strong _ . Jaskier released the struggling knight for a moment to grab a small crystal vial from the odd collection of healing supplies he’d brought in earlier. He uncorked the tincture of poppy and tipped three bitter, milky drops down the back of Geralt’s throat. After a moment or two the knight’s frenzied shaking stopped and he settled back against the flagstones. 

Jaskier dragged his large body back to the pallet and helped him to lie down atop the mattress. He tucked a thick woolen blanket up around Geralt’s waist and examined his bandages for any pulled stitches or fresh bleeding.

Nothing, thank the gods.

Geralt’s eyes of molten amber were hazy from the drugs but they still followed the young nobleman’s every movement with catlike focus. After making sure that his patient wasn’t bleeding again, Jaskier allowed himself a moment to run his hand through the man’s soft, silky white hair. He was shocked when Geralt melted into the touch, a rumble echoing deeply in his chest. Geralt’s whole body seemed to arch towards the confused young noble no matter where he moved on the bed, seeking out the young man’s warmth and touch. The White Wolf burrowed against him, nuzzling into the side of his leg and inhaling. 

The Lord bit his lip and stood up, taking an experimental step away from the cot. Geralt released a loud, almost  _ frantic  _ whine when he lost contact with Jaskier's skin. His nostrils flared and his eyelids fluttered open for a split second, searching for but failing to find the awestruck brunette. His pale hand fisted in the blanket near his hip and he whimpered pitifully. “ _ Jaskier _ .”

“I’m here,” the younger man reassured him, taking a seat on the edge of the goose-down pallet once again.  _ There’s definitely something between us; something more than he’s been telling me. _ Geralt curled his body around the young Lord’s hips and legs where they rested on the mattress and shivered with delight. He slipped the tips of his fingers beneath the loose edge of the Lord's linen shirt and traced along the skin of his stomach lazily. Jaskier ran a comforting hand up and down the knight’s curved spine, reveling in the softness of his skin even where it bumped and scarred. He whispered children’s stories into Geralt's ear until the tincture fully settled and the wounded knight fell into a calm, restful sleep. 

Jaskier _kept_ whispering stories until the entirety of the man's huge hand was splayed possessively against his abdomen. The unconscious touch sparked something bright and dangerous in the younger man’s heart. Something that had been building for a long time. Something that had been tying them together for his entire life without his knowledge. 

He realized suddenly what his Babcia had sewn into the tapestry outside this very door. _This will be the image of your destiny, my little Julian._

The happy sigh Geralt released against the side of Jaskier's thigh as he slept was _destiny._

* * *

_ “You cannot have him.”  _

_ “What do you mean that I can’t have him? He belongs to me!” _

_ “He cannot belong to you, my darling. You are a vicious wolf and he is as gentle as any lamb. You could destroy him with a single touch. You could tear him to little pieces before he could even scream for help with that silver tongue of his.” _

_ “Morgana, no! Don’t you dare touch him.” _

_ “I don’t have to.” _

_ Her smile was full of cruel promise. She lifted the edge of her cape slightly and he saw a familiar brown boot just behind it. “M-Morgana,” he begged, “Please don’t tell me that I-” _

_ She swept to the side, revealing the entirety of Jaskier’s limp form. His arm was stretched out above his head, a bloody dagger just out of reach of his grasping fingers. His eyes were open in horror, still that same shade of cornflower blue. He looked as if he could be frozen in mid-scream were it not for the claw marks across his neck and chest.  _

_ Geralt retched into the grass and fell to his knees. “How do I stop this from coming to pass?” _

_ “You cannot.” _

_ “Morrigan!” _

_ “He is yours to claim but he is also yours to kill. Are you going to tell him the truth or are you going to let him die, Geralt?” _

_ “I can’t tell him about the Law of Surprise! I don’t want him to choose me out of obligation.” _

_ “Then you let him die. You cannot change the will of destiny, my Wolf. You tied yourself to him and now you must take responsibility for your actions. You must tell him who he is; that he is the predetermined mate of the White Wolf. That only he can break your curse on the eve of Hallowe’en.” _

_ “Morgana, no!” _

_ “Goodbye, Geralt. I shall see you again when the moon is full. When the lark-” she cast a pointed glance at Jaskier “-no longer sings his tune.” _

Two yellow eyes flashed open in the dark. 

Geralt was alone again in the hidden room and for that he was thankful. 

There was much to think about after his prophetic visit from the Morrigan. There were many decisions to be made yet tonight. Many words had to be chosen and arranged properly so that Jaskier wouldn’t flee in fear of him. Geralt only had one shot to tell the young Lord everything he needed to share; he only had one chance to prove that he could be the one to take away that longing and loneliness in Jaskier’s tender heart. _   
_


	4. All I Ask of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry that I haven't been updating as quickly and that this chapter is a little shorter than usual. I work seven days in a row this week (I'm on day 4) and I've been exhausted. 
> 
> "All I Ask of You" - Phantom of the Opera

_No more talk of darkness,_   
_Forget these wide-eyed fears._   
_I'm here, nothing can harm you._   
_My words will warm and calm you._

_\---_

_Let me be your freedom,_   
_Let daylight dry your tears._   
_I'm here with you, beside you,_   
_To guard you and to guide you._

_\---_

_All I want is freedom,  
A world with no more night.  
And you, always beside me,  
To hold me and to hide me._

* * *

“Stay still, you ruffian,” Jaskier ordered. Geralt was squirming slightly in discomfort as the young Lord tried to rebandage his wounds. It had only been a week since the knight had been sequestered in the small room, but the hole in his shoulder was already beginning to close and scab. Jaskier wondered if the curse had anything to do with his quick healing but didn’t want to ask and risk upsetting him any further. “You’re making this entirely too difficult, Geralt. Do you need more of the tincture?”

“No. I’ll be fine.”

“Then don’t move. Just a few moments more and it will be finished.”

Geralt bit the inside of his cheek and willed his limbs to cease their fidgeting. It was incredibly difficult, more than anything he’d ever done before. The simple task of keeping still under Jaskier’s ministrations somehow required herculean effort and the White Wolf’s mind was buzzing with one simple question: _Why_?

“Finished! Thank you, good sir knight. You are free to wiggle about as you please.”

“What happened to being a ruffian?”

“Good knights who behave themselves for their endlessly patient nurses get to be called by their real titles.”

“Hmm, that wasn’t my full title at all.”

“How should I address you, then?”

“Sir Geralt de Riv, disgraced knight of Scotland and unwilling member of the Morrigan’s Winter Court.”

Jaskier’s mouth fell open and he took a step away from the cot. A bright spark of pain lanced through Geralt’s chest as the distance between them increased and he grimaced out of instinct. The nobleman laughed breathlessly and sank to his knees on the floor, just far enough away to be out of the knight’s reach. His eyes were full of tears when they finally met Geralt’s again. His mouth formed a pale, thin line.

“Tell me everything that happened, please. I know there’s something between us that’s more than just simple friendship. I know you’re keeping a secret. I was willing to let you keep it from me for the rest of my life; I would have been happy as your friend and nothing more, but hearing you talk in your sleep and having you so close these past few days...I can’t _do it_ anymore. I can’t ignore the tugging feeling in my gut every time we part for bed. I can’t ignore the way you seem to lean towards me when you’re not aware, like something else is pushing you closer. I can’t ignore the way my skin tingles for hours after you brush a casual touch against my shoulder or my hand. I dream of you every night, imagine you holding me in your arms, feeling your breath on the back of my neck when I _know_ you’re not there. _Who am I,_ Geralt, and _why_ can’t I seem to keep you from my mind?”

Geralt sighed and struggled into a sitting position on the edge of the cot. It took all of the noble’s willpower not to rush forward and steady him. He needed answers, first. “It’s a long story, Jask.”

“Your shoulder isn’t fully healed yet and I don’t have any audiences planned for today,” he shrugged. “We have plenty of time.”

“Fine,” the knight growled. “But you should know right now that I can’t pay you back for all the supplies you’ve used to heal me. When you toss me out of here and ban me forever, your money goes down the drain.”

“I never expected you to pay me back; and I won’t just kick you out when you’re done saying your piece. My Father may be a bastard and a cad but hopefully those particular traits skip a generation.”

Geralt really did smile at that. Jaskier always knew how to lighten the mood and cheer him up; almost like magic. The tired knight patted the space next to him on the mattress and the young noble joined him there, leaving an inch or two of space between their bodies. To the White Wolf it felt like an endless canyon.

“I was only eleven years old and working as a squire to Lord MacKinnish when the war first broke out with the Eastern clans. He took me with him to polish his swords and care for his horse, as tradition goes. During a surprise attack by a band of specially trained Eastern soldiers I pulled your father out of harm’s way, saving his life. He offered me anything I wanted in return.”

“The Law of Surprise,” Jaskier whispered. His hand found its way to the top of Geralt’s clothed thigh and the knight had to hold back a happy sigh at the feeling of Jaskier’s warmth seeping through the material. The gentle heat was like a brand against his skin, if a brand could be somehow pleasant and calming. The physical connection seemed to settle something in the younger man too, since the Lord's expression softened and his shoulders relaxed automatically. 

“I was a _child_ , Jaskier, and I’m so sorry for tying you to my side with such a childish mistake. I thought the Law of Surprise would win me a strong gelding or a handful of gold. The thought of Lord Pankratz returning home to a pregnant young wife had never even crossed my mind!” The noble’s hand moved from Geralt’s thigh to tangle their fingers together as he continued, “The war went on for seven long and bloody years. By the time it was over I had turned eighteen and been knighted by His Highness for my deeds on the battlefield. I’d become an accomplished swordsman and a strong rider. The King offered me a position at court but I declined. I was determined to find Lord Pankratz, take my horse or my gold, and disappear into the woods for a long while. I didn’t want to be around people anymore. I was so tired of conflict and war and _humanity_ . I was young. I was a knight. I was an orphan. I had no _idea_ what I was supposed to do with the rest of my life.”

Jaskier listened with a calm, sad expression on his face. Geralt’s story tumbled from his mouth, anxiety pushing the words out far faster than he was used to, “Your father broke his promise. You were his only son and heir and he wasn’t about to give you up. He loves your mother very much and he wasn’t about to risk her life by trying for a second child, especially since he couldn't guarantee that it would be another boy. It was more convenient to keep you and risk the bad fortune of breaking his oath to me. He went to court and stayed there, happily ordering the new King of Scotland around under the guise of offering him _advice,”_ Geralt snorted. “So I was turned away from the keep empty-handed. Your parents demanded that I stayed away.”

“And the curse?”

“That happened three years later. I was riding through the forest on a hunt for my dinner when Morgana le Fay saw me and decided that I was -” he paused, searching for a word. When he finally found it he blushed scarlet and looked down at his lap. _“Desirable.”_

“Why did she turn you into a wolf? Were you bad in bed?” Jaskier teased gently. He was trying to bring Geralt’s smile back but it didn't work at all. He tried again, “Did you bite her or something?”

“I rejected her advances.” The words had barely even been a whisper, the knight spoke them so softly. “I told her that I was promised to another and for my insolence I was cursed.”

Jaskier’s eyes widened when he remembered the dream from the night he met Geralt. His mouth seemed to move of its own volition, repeating the lines of verse that had stuck in his mind like flies in a honeytrap: 

"When the lark no longer sings his tune,

And the sky is full with the shining moon

Your spine shall crack, your shoulders bend,

Your eyes shall change, your clothes shall rend.

No longer will you be a Knight,

But instead a wolf of wintry white.”

“How do you know?” Geralt asked. His own golden eyes were wide and full of confusion. “How do you know the curse by heart?”

“I heard it in a dream. The one I had on the night you attacked Miles Cross."

“Oh.”

“So every month during the full moon you turn into a wolf?”

“Correct.”

“I was right before, then; you’re the Big Bad White Wolf of Carterhaugh Forest.” Geralt flinched at the young Lord’s statement of fact and Jaskier reached to comfort him automatically, his sinewy arms wrapping solidly around the knight’s waist. It was awkward to hug him from the side without jostling his injured shoulder, but it was not impossible. The gentle sweetness of Jaskier's voice very nearly broke the knight in two as he spoke, “I couldn’t give any less of a damn, Geralt. You’re the man who rescued my father even though he didn’t deserve it. You’re the man who gave me protection without asking for anything in return. We are fated to be together, somehow, and I won't risk angering Destiny by turning you away like my father once did. I am not a fool, nor am I unwilling. Anywhere you go, let me go too.”

“Jaskier, you don't have to-”

“Take the necklace back for now, Geralt. While you finish healing. If it will keep you safe from the Morrigan then I want you to have it.” Jaskier pulled the wolf pendant out from beneath his shirt and and lifted it over his head. He’d finally figured out its significance after finding Geralt in the woods, bleeding and gasping out the young Lord's name like a deathbed prayer. “You need it far more than I do if she can use her powers to make you to hurt people. She forced your hand, didn’t she? She’s the one who made you to attack Miles Cross.”

“How could you possibly know that it was Morgana? What if it was all me? What if this -” Geralt gestured between their bodies, which were still pressed together “- is all a trick to get you to follow me into the woods so I can eat you alive?”

“You’d never hurt anyone,” Jaskier asserted. His blue eyes were calm and he smelled of nothing but reassurance and compassion. The White Wolf felt dizzy and overwhelmed. He had been expecting immediate rejection, perhaps even imprisonment or execution. He hadn’t been expecting the gentle, loving embrace of another person. “You’re a knight errant, Geralt de Riv. A knight of the people. You would never do harm me or anyone else if you were given a choice.”

“Jaskier,” the knight gasped out. His voice broke completely on the last syllable and filled him, at long last, with tears. He rested his head against the younger man's slender shoulder and sobbed out eighteen years of pain and guilt. Finally he could release the things he’d been carrying with him since the day Julian Alfred Pankratz’s birth was announced. “Can you ever forgive me for twining our fates together so carelessly?”

“Of course not,” the young Lord replied. Geralt’s shoulders only shook harder before Jaskier gripped the knight’s chin between his finger and thumb and tilted his face back up. Blue sky and warm honey met through the curtain of tears and soothed some distant, aching part of their shared soul. The brunette smiled widely, “There is nothing to forgive.”

Geralt had no words left to speak. They drained from him with every passing moment that Jaskier held his gaze. All the lonely knight could do was wrap his arms around the man who'd always belonged to him (and who he had belonged to in return) and hold him close. He wasn't good enough for this man. He wasn't worthy of such awe and trust and, if he wasn't mistaken, _love._ He let himself enjoy the peaceful contentment that warmed them both from the inside out as they held each other in silence.

Even though he knew he could only have it for a moment.

* * *

Although they shared a bed for the first time that night, holding each other close and letting the magic of Destiny aid the healing of their bruised hearts, Jaskier couldn’t keep his nightmares at bay. He kicked and twisted in the sheets as the Morrigan’s magic finally breached his sleeping mind. He’d given the blessed medallion back to Geralt and lay unprotected on his feather mattress as her fury crept slowly into his dreams. 

_Jaskier and a dark-haired woman in a deep purple dress stood next to the rosy well. Her stance was relaxed but her face was pinched with irritation and frustration. The young Lord was still in his night-clothes and he felt rather under-dressed._

_“You can’t keep him,” she said, interrupting his thoughts. Her tone was bemused but full of dark threat, “He’s_ my _puppy. Only_ I _can play with him.”_

_“Geralt is not a pet,” the Lord snarled back. “He’s a person. Free him from this curse at once or I’ll find a way to do it myself.”_

_"And how will you go about doing that?"_

_"I have the resources, material and educational. I can read. I'll read every book in every library on the Continent until I find the one that tells me how to free that man from your hideous, clawed grip."_

_"How_ dare _you address me this way, foolish mortal? You've just signed the warrant for his arrest and execution."_

_"Fuck you, sorceress. I'll always be there to save him. Just like last time."_

_"You're brave," she chuckled. The sound echoed in Jaskier's head. "And a moron. Your money can't save the knight, little Lord Pankratz. Your land and your parents' influence over the King mean nothing to me. I have_ magic _in my blood and you have, what, the Law of Surprise?"_

_"Perhaps Destiny will help me find a way to break the curse."_

_“I’ve already told you how to break it, little buttercup. You must remember the rest of that first dream...if you can.”_

_“Don’t doubt that I will, witch. I know it’s all rather sudden, but I do enjoy spending time with Geralt and I don’t deny that I’m attracted to him. Destiny, fate, whatever else has a hand in this nonsense, they can all just piss off; Geralt and I belong together somehow.”_

_“I had him first.”_

_“Why do you want him so badly? Why must you insist on hurting him so much after all that he’s already suffered?”_

_She shrugged, uncaring. “It’s fun. He feels everything so_ deeply, _buttercup_ _. His heart is like a never-ending chasm of love and hate and pride and shame and oh -” she gasped as if aroused. She very well might have been. “-I want to break him completely.”_

_"I won't let you."_

_The Morrigan sneered. Her voice filled to the brim with tempestuous power as she declared: "I_ will _break him. I_ will _have him. If I cannot have him, little buttercup, then_ nobody _will."_

Jaskier was suddenly ripped from the dream. Geralt had shaken him awake with a wild, panicked look in his eyes. 

They were standing in the middle of his study.

His Babcia’s wolf tapestry was on the floor before them, revealing the secret door entirely. It hung open, loose on the hinges, and a curling green smoke drifted from inside. Jaskier looked down to see that Geralt’s hands were wrapped tightly around both of his wrists. “Why are you holding me so fiercely? What are we doing in my study? What happened to the tapestry?”

“Look down,” the knight muttered, eyes still searching Jaskier’s nervously. “See what you’re holding and ask me again.”

Jaskier looked down. He panicked and opened his hand. 

A sharp silver dagger dropped to the floor with a clatter, bouncing off the flagstones in the direction of the secret room. 

“It was Morgana,” the young man asserted, allowing his Wolf to crush him against that broad, muscular chest. Jaskier felt suddenly safer. It may have been due to the proximity of Geralt’s amulet but the Lord had a creeping suspicion that the calm, content feeling flooding over him had more to do with Geralt himself than any minor magic. 

As the younger man pressed tighter into his arms, the knight had a different thought entirely. A thought that pained him endlessly but one that must be dealt with nonetheless: The closer he stayed to Jaskier, the more danger the boy was in. He had to disappear back into the woods as soon as possible and put some distance between them. He had to keep him safe. He had to keep this smiling, living piece of summertime _alive._

If Jaskier were to die at the hands of the jealous Morgana...

_No. Jaskier wouldn't be allowed to die._

He wouldn't let that happen.

* * *

At the King’s summer castle in Roxburgh, a mysterious letter arrived addressed to Lord Pankratz.

_Milord,_

_Your son has been acting strangely as of late. He sent assistance to the people of Miles Cross after the Wolf attacked and lent the use of our healer to a wandering knight. He disappears some afternoons and doesn’t go back to his room until very late. When he is sequestered in his private chambers I can sometimes hear more than one voice, as if he is sneaking someone in there._

_It sounds like another man._

_Perhaps you should surprise him with a visit soon._

_Yours in Concern,_

There had been a name signed at the bottom but some kind of rain or poorly mixed sealing wax had smudged it beyond readability. No matter, the content of his missive was enough to send Lord Pankratz flying into a rage. 

“Send for my horse at once,” he demanded. “I have urgent business to attend to in Carterhaugh. Tell His Highness that I shall return in three days. No longer.”

“Yes, Milord.”

“And bring my sword,” he added. “In case there’s mischief afoot in Carterhaugh Forest.”

_In case I need to slay that stupid Wolf._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please gimme some good validation. I need it. This week has really sucked, fam.


	5. This Nearly Was Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This place is death, considering who thou art."   
> -Juliet (Romeo and Juliet II.ii)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "This Nearly Was Mine" - South Pacific
> 
> We're getting some Emotional Torment this chapter because...oops.

_ Close to my heart he came _

_ Only to fly away; _

_ Only to fly as day flies from moonlight. _

_ \--- _

_ Now, now I'm alone, _

_ Still dreaming of paradise, _

_ Still saying that paradise _

_ Once nearly was mine. _

_ \--- _

_ I'll keep remembering kisses _

_ From lips I'll never own, _

_ And all those lovely adventures _

_ That we will never know. _

_ \--- _

When Jaskier woke to an empty bed he wasn’t surprised. Geralt often woke before him. The young Lord only began to panic when he couldn’t find the knight errant in his study  _ or  _ the secret room either, however. Roach’s saddlebags were gone, along with his twin swords. It seemed that Geralt had finally made his daring and unexpected escape from Castle Pankratz in the middle of the night. 

The young Lord only found Geralt's apologetic note after flopping dejectedly onto his bed and shoving his hand beneath the pillow to better muffle the soft sounds of his crying. There it was; a small piece of scrap paper filled with Geralt’s scratchy handwriting. Jaskier hastily wiped the tears from his eyes in order to read it:

_ Dearest Jaskier, _

_ I can’t stay here any longer and risk your safety.  _

_ The Morrigan won’t rest until she has destroyed me and I don’t  _ _ want her to hurt you in the process.  _

_ Don’t look for me. I won’t let myself be found. _

_ I do love you, my little Red Riding Hood. _

_ Someday we will hold each other close again. _

_ Your Fated, _

_ Geralt de Riv _

Jaskier remained sitting on the edge of his mattress as his eyes went out of focus and his breathing stuttered from its normal crying pattern into shoulder-wracking sobs. He hated being separated from Geralt. He hated not knowing where the knight was or if he was okay. He hated that he’d fallen in love with such a hard-headed, self-loathing  _ idiot  _ who felt the need to protect Jaskier from a force of magic that couldn’t be stopped. 

_ Fate  _ wasn’t something that Geralt could fight against, threats from the Morrigan or no.

* * *

Geralt was in turmoil. 

He felt sicker and weaker with every mile he traveled away from the castle but he couldn’t give in to the pull of the magic and turn around. He had to keep Jaskier  _ safe.  _ He’d been slowly recovering, hidden away in the young Lord’s chambers, for nearly three weeks. That meant the night of the full moon had grown close once again and Geralt’s transformation was imminent. He had the medallion again, which meant that he would be free of Morgana’s interference this time around, but it would be safest for everyone if he went through this whole ordeal alone. 

Far away from Jaskier.

And so he continued to distance himself from his Destiny, pushing Roach to her limits and resting her whenever he could find fresh water. His heart ached painfully in his chest and his mind grew ever-foggier but the knight stayed true to his course. Such matters couldn’t be helped. Until he could figure out a way to do away with or escape from Morgana there was nothing he could do but live with the curse and stay away from his love.

* * *

Lord Pankratz had expected to meet with more resistance when he arrived at the keep to chastise his son for his poor decisions in regard to the Wolf’s attack on Miles Cross. He had been ready for arguments and poorly articulated persuasions and eventually some mindless shouting. He had certainly  _ not  _ been expecting Jaskier to stand still and silent before him as he berated the boy’s every move in his absence. He ended the dressing down with the simple yet eloquent phrase: “You’re a disgrace, Julian.”

“Yes, Father.”

“I received a letter,” the Lord glared, pulling the strange missive from his doublet pocket and waving it beneath Jaskier’s nose. “And the contents of this letter suggest that you were being  _ indecorous  _ with another member of the household.”

“No, sir. I haven’t had anyone from the feminine staff up to my room and none of the court ladies have dropped by for a visit.”

“It wasn’t a lady’s voice they were hearing, apparently.”

“Well I certainly don’t know who was listening in on my personal business or what they were hearing then, Father! I’ve been alone here for who knows how long. I certainly haven’t been sneaking around having _romantic interludes_ with mysterious strangers; aren’t  _ you  _ in the middle of arranging my marriage anyway?”

“Julian,” the Lord snapped. “Why are you lying to me? If you just tell me which farmer’s son or soldier you were meeting with then I won’t even punish you that harshly.”

“No public whipping today?” Jaskier mocked. “Thank you, Milord. How generous.”

“A public whipping is exactly what you’ll get if you don’t give up this stupid charade of innocence and tell me  _ who you were fucking  _ right this instant _!” _

“I wasn’t  _ fucking _ anyone,” the younger man spat, blue eyes narrowed. He’d never felt anger or hatred so purely before. They burned inside him like twin flames, raising his voice to a nearly unbelievable level as he berated his father. This asshole had abandoned him here for years and only  _ now,  _ when his silly, wayward son posed a threat to their family honor, did the mighty Lord Pankratz appear at the keep. Jaskier was furious. He finished releasing a pent-up slew of curses and insults and ended it with the question that had been scratching at the back of his mind for weeks, “Why didn’t you ever tell me that I was meant to be a Child Surprise!?”

All the anger on Lord Pankratz’s face, which had been building since the boy’s tirade began, suddenly faded. The dark-haired man went ghostly pale and took a slow step back towards the door. It looked as if he expected his son to leap forward and attack him at any moment. He whispered out a question, barely audible to Jaskier’s ears, “How did you find out about that?”

“I met a woman in the village,” Jaskier lied. “A soothsayer named Morgana. She read my palm and told me that my fate has always been tied to the Big Bad White Wolf of Carterhaugh Forest. Since the day of my birth I have been meant for him. Is that true? Did you break the Law of Surprise and keep me from my Destiny?”

“He was just a boy,” Lord Pankratz seethed. His hands balled into white-knuckled fists at his sides and his tone became venomous. “He was a foolish squire that didn’t know what he was doing when he called on the Law of Surprise. He could have had anything in the world and yet he'd somehow won _my_ child. I wasn’t about to marry my first and only son, a Viscount by blood off to some lowly knight; and certainly not an orphaned, nameless knight at that. Not to mention the embarrassment of having to throw an elaborate wedding worthy of your status for another  _ man  _ to partake in _.  _ We need you to marry a woman and bear a son; you can’t become the Wolf’s mate and go childless. You need to keep the Pankratz line alive in the history books. If you had been born a girl things might have been different and you might have been able to live together, Julian, but you  _ weren’t _ born a girl, were you? ”

“Somehow in this twisted situation you thought that  _ I  _ was the disgrace?” Jaskier huffed out a disbelieving laugh. “What an informative conversation  _ this  _ has been. You cheated Geralt of his Surprise and now he lives as a cursed man, hiding and hunting like an animal in Carterhaugh Forest. Meanwhile you're getting fat and winning favors at court, where he was offered a rightful place by merit. It’s amazing. I’d also like you to know that I think you’re a real bastard, Father dear. Do you  _ know  _ how truly awful you are, _Milord_?”

“I do,” the Lord growled. “But our little talk has reminded me of something rather important, Julian. It’s high time you settled down with a nice girl and started a family of your own.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I’m going to lock you in the north tower like one of the Princesses in your Babcia's fairy stories until we can find you a proper wife, my son. Once you’re wed and have things consummated I’ll relinquish the keep to you entirely. You can take over the land and I can rest easy at court knowing this family’s name will continue on. Do you understand?”

Jaskier turned on his heel to run from the room but came face-to-face with two large knights. Their bulky torsos blocked the doorway completely. There was nowhere for the young noble to run. His breath started coming faster through his nose and his heart was pounding. “Y-You can’t be serious, Father.”

“I'm afraid I am,” the Lord joked darkly. “I'm afraid I rather _insist._ Marriage is a very serious business, after all, Julian."

"Wha-"

Lord Pankratz turned to the knights and barked out his instructions: "Sequester my idiot son in the north tower for now. Chain him there so that he can't disappear until I call for him. He is to be given two lukewarm baths a week and he should be fed twice a day. He can have two books at a time but keep him away from that ridiculous lute.”

“Yes, Milord,” the taller knight nodded. The two burly men grabbed Jaskier by the arms and began to drag him, struggling and kicking, from his father's antechamber. 

“You ass! You royal cock! Geralt will kill you for this! I hope he rips your miserable, lying throat out with his teeth!”

“Wait,” the Lord called. The men stopped and turned the boy around to look back at the fuming Lord. Jaskier's Father crossed the short distance between them and grabbed his son rather roughly by the chin. There was a malicious shine to his green eyes. “He was the one you were hiding, wasn’t he?”

Jaskier glanced away and the aversion only confirmed Lord Pankratz’s suspicions. 

“Oh this is wonderful,” the man laughed. It was a twisted, vengeful sound that sent panic spiking through Jaskier when he heard it. “You’ve fallen in love with the Wolf. This is too good, really. Gentlemen, lock him up as I instructed before, but when you’re finished come back to this room. I need you to run some errands for me and put up some fliers. There’s going to be a hunt during the full moon and Carterhaugh Forest will be open to the public.”

“Don’t you dare hurt Geralt,” Jaskier snarled, yanking forward against the iron grips of his captors. “I’ll fucking kill you if so much as look at him the wrong way. Don’t fucking touch him! Leave my Wolf alone!”

“You love him,” the Lord said. “I can’t have that kind of petty emotional attachment threatening your future marriage. You’re the kind of boy who gets romantic ideas about escapes and elopements. It’s best to be rid of him once and for all; best to save us from any potential trouble.”

Jaskier’s scream of fury was loud and primal and full of hate. He hoped that Geralt had heard it in the wind; that his White Wolf had been properly warned. The young man cursed and lashed out however he could as he was removed from his Father’s chambers and taken up the winding circular staircase to the lonely north tower. The small, round room at the top was mostly bare except for a thin cot with a ratty blanket and a chamber pot in the corner. A tub and mirror stood against the opposite side and a barred window without any glass took up a small portion of the wall directly across from the door. 

If it rained hard enough Jaskier wouldn’t be able to avoid getting soaked. His father  _ was  _ angry. The Lord was willing to risk his son’s health at this point, and that clued Jaskier in on the very real danger of his situation.  _ Don’t come for me, Geralt,  _ he prayed.  _ Let me die in this little room of some common fever or starvation. You can live on. You can survive anything.  _

_ Leave me here and stay far away.  _

_ They’ll kill you if they catch you. _

Ironic that he’d been devastated over his darling’s disappearance just this morning. How silly that all seemed now. Geralt had gotten himself to safety and Jaskier was, in some strange way, exceedingly pleased. Even as his father’s lackeys closed a manacle around his ankle and chained him to the wall, even as they locked the door to the small room behind them and disappeared back down the stairs, Jaskier felt at peace. The note had said not to look for him. The note had said that his dashing knight would be staying far away.  _ As long as you’re safe, Geralt, everything will be fine.  _

His dreams were vivid that night, echoing the longing of his severed soul. 

_ “It’s raining,” Geralt rumbled. Jaskier’s head was tucked beneath the taller man’s chin. His shoulder was pressed tightly against the knight’s broad, well-muscled chest. Geralt’s arms were wrapped around him, supporting him and keeping him safe. “Can you hear it on the roof?” _

_ “Aye,” the younger man whispered. Geralt’s warm lips pressed against his temple and one of the knight’s large hands splayed across his lower back. He felt utterly at home. Despite his happiness a dark worry still nibbled at the corner of his mind and pulled him from the warmth of his lover's embrace. “You can’t come back for me, my Wolf.” _

_ “What do you mean? Of course I'm coming back for you.”  _

_ “My father is having you hunted,” Jaskier explained, twisting in the knight’s grip to better face him. Those golden eyes were achingly soft but the young Lord steeled his will and met them with his own icy blues. “You must stay away from Foulis Manor, my beloved Wolf. You must stay away from Carterhaugh Forest.” _

_ “What, why?” _

_ “My father is having you hunted," the young Lord repeated. "The woods will be full of murderous villagers on the three nights of the full moon. Stay away, my love!” _

_ “My love,” the White Wolf echoed back. When Geralt smiled his mouth was full of sharp and bloody fangs. His voice was low, threatening, and unusually gravelly. It seemed as though two entities were speaking through him at once. “My love, wake up. Wake up! Wake up!” _

Jaskier shot up in bed and came face-to-face with a dark-haired woman in a familiar purple dress. Despite the inherent fear he felt at the sorceress's presence in his makeshift prison cell, the young mortal's voice came out strong and seemingly disaffected; “Ah, Morgana. We meet at last.”

“Julian Alfred Pankratz,” she replied, asserting her authority over him by stating his full name. “Whatever are we going to do with you?”


	6. In the Dark of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We have finally reached Yearning Hours.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "In the Dark of the Night" - Anastasia
> 
> We're almost at the end! Sorry that it's been taking me so long to update this stuff. School is starting back up and I got a fellowship that I'm training for so...I'll still be writing a lot but bear with me if the updates/editing is slower. 
> 
> I love you all and your kind words make this all so SO worth it <3

_ In the dark of the night evil will find him; _

_ In the dark of the night, just before dawn! _

_ \--- _

_ Revenge will be sweet _

_ When the curse is complete! _

_ In the dark of the night _

_ (In the dark of the night) _

_ He'll be gone! _

* * *

“Apparently your darling father and I have both decided to be rid of the Big Bad White Wolf once and for all,” Morgana smirked. Her teeth glinted unnaturally in the low light of the breaking dawn and Jaskier fought back a shiver. Determination and bravado could only hold for so long in the face of true power like hers. “I’ve grown rather bored with his constant rejection and, coincidentally, I owe a tithe to Hell on Hallowe’en. I’ve agreed to give them a living sacrifice every seven years in order to retain all this wonderful youth, power, and beauty, you see. This is the seventh year, my darling, and since our sweet knight errant has been putting up such a fuss and causing so much trouble for everyone, it has been decided that Geralt will serve my purposes.”

“Who decided that?” Jaskier asked. His voice never wavered despite his heart-wrenching fear. He was sure that she could hear his heart hammering away like a scared rabbit in his chest. 

“The Lords and Ladies of my Winter Court put it to a vote. Since he’s been away so long playing human in the woods with  _ you, _ ” she glared, “They thought that choosing one of our own citizens to do the job would be rude. The stars have aligned for Geralt, so it seems.”

“Yes, in all the shittiest ways possible. What a  _ blessing,  _ My Lady,” the young Lord sneered. Now he really was more angry than nervous. This was his  _ Fated  _ and she was just going to  _ give him away.  _ He wasn’t going to let that happen. “Geralt’s life is already hard enough without yet another problem to solve.”

“Are you referring to his imminent death or his unwitting decision to claim  _ you  _ as his partner?” the witch taunted. Jaskier ignored the lance of pain that shot through him at her words; she was only teasing him to get a reaction in the first place. She watched the emotion flickering on his face and continued breezily, “Nevermind you or your opinions about his life, anyhow. It is an honor to serve as my catalyst.”

“Such an honor,” the noble’s voice contained no small amount of sarcasm. “To be denied your reward from Destiny for saving a life, to be forced to run away from your Fated match, and to be offered up to the Lords of Hell by some selfish sorceress who thinks you should have to bend to her twisted will or die in the process!”

“Don’t shout too loudly, little lark, or the guards will come and see you raving at the top of your lungs in an empty room. What will your father do then, do you think? Would he take you to Bedlam and be rid of you once and for all? It would certainly be quieter around here if that were to be the case.”

“He can’t make me disappear so easily. I’m his only son and heir to the Castle Pankratz. When he dies I’ll be the only one left to take over running the barracks and the keep.”

“Too bad. You’d have made for an interesting inmate, Julian.”

“Alas,” he rolled his eyes. His heart was beginning to settle back into its regular pattern. Her eyes widened and she raised her eyebrows, impressed. 

“You aren’t scared of me.”

“Don’t be so sure,” the noble said, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m actually rather terrified that you’ll turn me into a bird or a frog at any second. At the moment, however, I’m more upset on Geralt’s behalf than I am concerned for my own safety.”

“How did you fall in love with him so fast?” The ageless sorceress was fascinated. No human had ever been brave enough to venture into the Carterhaugh Woods alone, unguarded. They feared the Big Bad White Wolf above all other monsters and spirits, and yet this boy had set off in a bright red cape, all alone. She had to know why he’d fallen for her Wolf in the first place. He didn't answer.

“How did  _ you _ ?” 

“It was his nobility,” Morgana half-purred. She might as well share, since he seemed so confident. “I could see it shining out of him like some bright spark in an inky tunnel. He was kind and loyal and true; those qualities are so hard to come by naturally in a mortal and here they were, blazing in the heart of this white-haired knight like the first tongues of fire the gods gave humanity.”

“So you cursed him for being a good person?”

“I turned him into the Wolf because I failed to seduce him,” Morgana explained. To Jaskier’s great surprise, the witch took a seat next to him on the cot; almost like they were having a friendly chat in the drawing room. “Because I wanted him so  _ badly _ . I wanted to tarnish that sense of honor just a  _ little;  _ but he wouldn't have me. He told me there was another to whom his heart already belonged and he wouldn’t risk hurting them by making such a brash decision.”

The young noble blushed at the implications of Geralt’s refusal. 

“I can only assume that he was referring to you, his Surprise. You would have been nearing seventeen at the time and certainly of marriageable age. Younger than you could have been fathering children by then.”

“Father was busy at court.”

“Lord Pankratz never was one to deal with romance well,” the sorceress mused.

“How old is Geralt, anyway?”

“I don’t know. Not that much older than you, of course. Otherwise he’d be raising you and not wooing you,” she teased. Her tone verged on friendly but Morgana never quite allowed herself to let go of her villainous air. “And what a fine little wife you would have made our White Wolf.”

“I’m sorry,” Jaskier sighed. The witch gave him a shocked sideways glance.

“Excuse me, mortal?”

“I said  _ I’m sorry.  _ I’m sorry that we don’t feel the same kind of love for Geralt because then -” Jaskier’s gaze was piercingly honest when it finally met hers “-you might understand the lengths I’m willing to go to for him. You’d understand just how dangerous a puny mortal boy can be. You would understand, great and ruinous Morrigan of the Carterhaugh Forest, that  _ I would tear the world apart to ensure that he was safe. _ ”

“That’s all well and good,” she replied lowly. She didn’t sound as confident as before but Jaskier wasn’t about to let some minor victory go to his head, “But it doesn’t matter now. If you can’t break his curse by the next full moon then I shall capture our Wolf and make him my tithe to Hell.”

Jaskier was about to call her several rude names but the sorceress chose that particular moment to make her rather dramatic exit. Her form shifted to mist and then evaporated, silently and completely. As if she’d never been there at all. 

The young noble sat stiffly at the edge of the thin straw mattress pad for a long time, thinking about all the things he’d need to do in order to save Geralt and free him from the Wolf once and for all. It was a very long and complicated list and involved several less-than-likely escape attempts. It would be incredibly difficult to bring any of his ideas to fruition, and it would take at least a week. 

But he didn’t have a week.

The next full moon was only two days away.

* * *

The Wolf was stronger than Geralt ever really gave it credit for. It battered against his still-human consciousness with its animalistic urges, begging him to turn around and sprint for the familiar walls of the keep. The lower in the sky the sun sank, the louder that primal voice seemed to grow. It wanted Jaskier, he knew. It wanted to know whether or not the young noble was safe and content. It wanted to curl around him and protect him for the next three nights, keeping the nightmares and witches away.  _ He’s sleeping,  _ the knight thought. It was a sad attempt to calm both halves of his warring mind.  _ He’s sleeping in that too-big bed...all alone.  _

The sun sank lower and the moon began to rise on the opposite horizon. Geralt’s spine tingled and his skin crackled with magic.  _ Fuck.  _ He stripped his clothes quickly and tucked them into the roots of a nearby tree. The transformation took hold as swiftly as always, sending him into the throes of agony yet again. He had thought, after several years worth of this experience, over and over every month for three nights, that he would get used to it. He didn’t. It still hurt just badly now as it did on that first full moon, when he hadn’t known what to expect at all.

The Wolf’s voice grew louder still, chanting in his head:  _ Jaskier. Jaskier. Jaskier.  _ Like a mantra. Like a prayer. Like a fucking  _ destination.  _ Geralt knew that returning to Carterhaugh meant certain death, likely for himself if not also for Jaskier. Lord Pankratz was a calculated man but he could be endlessly cruel; both halves of the Fated pair knew that side of him all too well. 

If Geralt could have cussed in his current form, he would have. Alas, all he could do was release a low, loud howl.  _ Fuck the moon. Fuck Lord Pankratz. I miss my Jaskier; I don’t want to be apart from him any longer.  _

The Wolf’s mind, sensing its host body’s weakness and utter longing, leapt at the opportunity to take over completely. Geralt’s consciousness was overcome by the primal urges of the curse and whatever human thoughts he might have had faded into silence. The Big Bad White Wolf turned on its heel and made for Carterhaugh Forest at breakneck speed.  _ Jaskier. Jaskier. Jaskier,  _ still echoing in its head and driving it forward. 

* * *

Lord Pankratz steered his horse and his hounds deeper into the darkening forest. His entourage of hunters, made up of nobles and peasants alike, spread out around him like a human net. All eyes were searching for a flash of white or the shine of fangs under the light of the full moon. He knew the Wolf would appear before long; he knew how close the creature tended to stay when the moon grew round in the sky. It sensed Julian, the Lord understood. It wanted to be near his son when it was in its most base and animal form; disgusting, really, how attached the foolish knight had grown to the young noble. They could never really  _ be  _ together, of course. It was silly to entertain such thoughts at all. 

The Lord focused on the hunt once again, pulling himself from his darkening thoughts. He’d instructed his men not to kill the wolf unless absolutely necessary; he wanted it alive. He wanted  _ Geralt  _ alive. He wanted Geralt to  _ know  _ exactly who was getting rid of him and  _ why  _ he wasn’t worth keeping. The knight errant had been a thorn in the Pankratz family’s side for too long and it was high time that he was removed. Perhaps after the loss of this particular option, Julian would finally settle down and behave himself like a proper noble. He would get married, have children, and take over the keep.

“I see ‘im!” a distant brogue called out. “He’s headed towards the keep!”

“Catch him!”

“Release the net!”

“Did we put out a trap?”

There were ten or fifteen voices all ringing out advice and questions. The Lord shot his musket into the distance; the forest went silent. “Catch him and bring him to the courtyard,” the Lord ordered. “I want you all to see exactly what kind of monster this is before we get rid of it for good!”

Determined cheers rang back to him.  _ At last,  _ he smiled.  _ Carterhaugh will be free and our name will be cleared. I will be free. Julian will be so much easier to handle. Destiny will get her meddling hands out of my life! _

_ Ah _ , Destiny shook her head in disappointment,  _ the pride before the fall. _

* * *

Jaskier watched from his tower room as a covered wagon pulled by two stout Clydesdales rumbled into the courtyard. It was surrounded by heavily armored guards and noble lords with their swords drawn. That much of a fuss could only be over one thing, knowing his father's intentions for the hunt. 

_ No,  _ he begged anyone that was listening. Destiny leaned in closer, eager to know what he’d plead for exactly. Eager to know the wording, the phrasing.  _ Please, not Geralt. Don’t let them kill Geralt. He deserves so much better. Life hasn’t had a chance to show him what real love is like just yet; it can’t end like this! Please, gods, spare him today and I’ll give you myself instead, when he’s safe. _

Selflessness. For all of his father’s callousness and greed and scheming, the boy was pure of heart. Destiny grinned widely and, in her twisted way, granted Jaskier’s one wish: Geralt wouldn’t die today. Not at Lord Pankratz’s cruel hands.

The younger Lord Pankratz watched from his prison as the one he was destined to be with forever was dragged from the back of the wagon and dropped roughly to the ground. His hands were tied behind his back and they’d bound his arms against his sides with several lengths of rope looped around his chest for added safety. Even his legs had been bound in two places; once at the knees and once at the ankles. Jaskier was horrified and couldn't stop himself from calling out in comfort: “Oh, my sweet Geralt!” 

Those honey eyes he adored so much flew straight to him. Even at such a distance they knew how to find their match. For a moment the captive knight’s expression brightened. The young Lord’s heart lifted in his chest, knowing his feelings were reciprocated. He replied with an equal amount of fervor, “Jaskier!”

One of the Lord’s cronies kicked Geralt in the stomach and the knight grunted, understanding the signal to be silent. As much as he loved the young noble, he didn’t want to risk any further physical injury. He already had a half-healed shoulder to deal with and now there would be bruising all over the rest of him from his rough handling under the soldiers' care. The pain of moving would make his escape far more difficult; if he could manage to escape at all. They’d been extremely thorough with his bindings, even pressing wolfs-bane into some of the knots for added safety (not that it mattered now that he was human again).

Jaskier pressed his torso tightly against the bars, reaching his arms out as if he could somehow fly from the tower and embrace Geralt where he lay. Even if his darling couldn’t reply, he had to let him know the truth. He had to scream it before all the knights of the court and all the stupid fucking soldiers that worshiped his evil, politically minded father like heartless fools. “I love you, Geralt de Riv! I always will!”

“Silence, Julian!” Lord Pankratz shouted, finally making his appearance from the other side of the wagon. “My son is bewitched! Don’t listen to him.”

“I’m not bewitched, you bastard!” Jaskier’s throat was raw from yelling but he wasn’t about to stop now. “I love him! I was meant to be his Child Surprise, probably his husband, but my father broke his oath after Geralt saved his life!"

Some of the nobles looked affronted by Jaskier's statement but the majority didn’t seem to care. The same grim-faced lackey as before kicked the bound knight once again and Jaskier nearly shrieked with anger at the look of utter torment on his darling’s face. He had to be in so much pain and there was nobody there to care for him. To tend to his shoulder or look after him. Tears streamed down the young noble's face and he surged against the bars again, seeking contact he'd never be able to gain from such a distance.

Lord Pankratz Sr. rolled his eyes at the boy's theatrics and motioned for one of the knights in his retinue to step forward. His voice was deep as he commanded: “Kill him and get this sad charade over with. Free my son from the evil spell this cursed man has put him under. Free my Julian from the lies he’s been forced to tell.”

The unfamiliar knight unsheathed his sword and Jaskier  _ screamed.  _ It was a feral sound. It ripped out of his throat with so much intensity that it scared his father, himself, and even Geralt, whose eyes were still locked on the young nobleman from his place on the ground. 

And then, of course, Destiny stepped in. 

Or rather, Morgana stepped in as Destiny had intended. 

“Step aside, little Lord Pankratz,” the sorceress ordered, appearing suddenly beside the white-haired knight. “It’s bad manners to break other people’s toys.”

“My apologies, sorceress,” the Lord bowed. He smirked at his son, whose eyes had grown somehow rounder at the Morrigna's entrance. What a drama was unfolding in the Court of Pankratz today; there would be many ballads and tales written about these events. He would play such a heroic part; freeing the Forest of two such creatures in one day. “Take him away, then, if he belongs to you. I have no interest in keeping him, as you can see.”

"Come, Geralt," Morgana ordered, as if he could move a muscle. His eyes hand't left Jaskier's. "We have much to do to prepare for our ride to Roxburgh next month."

Morgana shot the north tower a quick glance before disappearing with Geralt in a puff of smoke. Her disembodied voice echoed through Jaskier’s circular cell: “Until Hallowe’en, little one.”


	7. Yesterday I Loved You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At last this lovely story comes to a close. Thanks for sticking around with my guys. I hope you enjoy it.
> 
> "Yesterday I Loved You" - Once Upon a Mattress
> 
> (Yes, that's a real musical and "Shy" is a Jaskier Vibe so you should check that song out too)

_ Yesterday I loved you as never before,  _

_ But please don't think me strange, _

_ I've undergone a change  _

_ And today I love you even more! _

_ \--- _

_ My heart cannot be trusted,  _

_ I give you fair warning: _

_ I openly confess tonight I love you less  _

_ Than I will tomorrow morning! _

_ \--- _

_ Yesterday, you seemed as lovely to me  _

_ as anyone could be; _

_ Now I see what tricks my eyes can play. _

_ Yesterday, I must have been utterly blind  _

_ Or else I was out of my mind, _

_ For I find you even lovelier today! _

* * *

Jaskier was kept in the tower for another week until the Lord was sure his son had been totally broken. His bullheaded heir no longer screamed at the guards to release him, no longer begged for Geralt to be found, and made no sound at all when food was brought (or when those still-mostly-full plates were taken away). Only when he was afraid that his heir might wither away to nothing and cheat him from a grandchild did the Lord finally allow the boy to be carried, for he was too weak to walk on his own, back to his private chambers. Mages and healers were sent to keep an eye on him and bring him back from whatever catatonia had taken him. They spent hours at his bedside, slipping potions and tonics between his closed lips. His eyes blinked open and closed but he didn't move or speak. 

Not when he was awake, anyway. Not when he could control it.

“He cries out in his sleep,” one of the white-bearded men muttered. He closed the young Lord's bedroom door behind him and sent the elder Pankratz a worried glance, “He chants in strange tongues and prays for Destiny to protect his Wolf. Sometimes he tries to rise from the bed entirely and we must restrain him. I don't know that he'll be able to recover fully if kept in this state. I don't know that he'll be able to live normally without...well, without the Wolf.”

“The Wolf is no longer our concern,” the Lord snapped. “I wish to hear no more of my son’s sick infatuation with the creature. I'm paying you to keep him alive, not give me advice. I never want to hear that word again. Begone.”

The healer held his tongue at the Lord’s darkening tone and made his way down the hall and out of sight. Of course the Pankratz bastard hadn't mentioned anything regarding his son's safety or emotional well-being. Not a solitary moment of thought spared for Jaskier's broken heart and clearly withering mind. Sure, a knight errant may not have been the first choice made by any noble for their son's betrothal, but he was still a knight by order of the King. He was still the man who'd saved Lord Pankratz's _life_ on the battlefield.

Out of spite for the rude, selfish man the old mage kept one piece of information to himself: Jaskier knew how to break the curse of Carterhaugh Forest. He’d been reciting the same damned verses in his sleep for the past three days as if it was some kind of religious mantra. Those feverish blue eyes had tracked back and forth across his bed hangings as if they were made of parchment, the words spilling forth from him uncontrollably fast and in barely decipherable English: 

_ “Until the one whose love is true _

_ Holds fast and keeps their arms 'round you: _

_ From snake to bear to lion strong _

_ We'll burn their arms with you erelong. _

_ But when you are a fiery brand _

_ Your love must toss you from their hand; _

_ For once you are in water cooled _

_ A knight you'll be, my curse o'er-ruled." _

_So_ , the mage decided as he finally departed from Pankratz Keep and made his way back towards Carterhaugh Proper and Miles Cross, _let the young Lord go forth to his untimely death. Let him venture through the thick woods in the pitch-dark of night with the Wolf on the loose. Let him be captured by an evil, vengeful sorceress and let him be murdered horribly for his troubles._ The healer was past caring. If Lord Pankrantz wanted to treat his family and subjects this way then let it be so. Let the universe handle things the best way it knew how: balancing the scales by force. 

Let the universe take care of the Pankratz family curse itself.

* * *

Geralt’s limbs were almost completely numb from the way he'd been tied by the time Morgana finally freed him. She knelt beside him and let her fingers wander across his skin as she undid all the knots; he was sure she could have done it with magic and that this was yet another form of torture and he was right. The muscles of his arms and legs cramped horribly as his previously restricted blood-flow was allowed to return to normal and a tingling sensation burned along every inch of his skin. He couldn’t even struggle onto his knees. 

The knight glared at his second captor of the day, muscles trembling as he flexed them in an attempt to move. His voice, though scratchy, was still usable. “You can’t keep me here, witch. I have the-”

“They took the medallion, Geralt. They took it when they captured you with their hunting nets my beautiful, foolish man,” she interrupted, running a hand through his snowy hair. She was right. He could feel her magic pulsing in his blood and tried to control his breathing. Tried to stay calm. “There’s nothing to protect you from me or the Wolf now. In three weeks time you shall serve as my Tithe to the Lords of Hell. _I_ will keep my good looks and magical powers and _you_ will be gone from this forest once and for all. No longer will you hurt me so with your denial of our mutual attraction.”

“Let me go, Morgana,” the knight snarled. “You know damn well there’s nothing mutual about it.”

“You’re in no position to be making demands, darling. You still have two nights of transformation left, remember? I might as well have  _ some  _ fun before you’re whisked away from this realm forever.”

“Morgana, no.  _ Please _ . Not again.”

“Give me what I want then, Geralt. Admit that you are mine and when I grow bored with you I will set you free,” she offered, running her finger along the line of the prone knight's stubbled jaw. “You won’t age so long as you are under my power. The curse will be lifted. You will be ever so spoilt, my White Wolf. Anything you want can be yours at the snap of a finger. Your hair will be washed with the finest soaps and plaited by the softest hands. Your clothes will never grow worn and your weapons will always be sharp. You can hunt for pleasure again. You can be treated as a real knight of your caliber _o_ _ught_ to be treated.”

Geralt shook his white hair out of his face and snarled, pulling away from her touch as much as he could in his weakened state. “Never. You know my heart belongs to another.”

“Then suffer the consequences of your decisions like a good boy, wouldn’t you? Struggling will only make it  _ worse. _ ”

She dug her claws into his consciousness, then. It hurt. It burned. It felt as if the fires of Hell itself were screaming their way up his spine and flickering against the backs of his clenched eyelids. 

* * *

By Hallowe'en his 'sick' performance had run its course. He was as strong as he'd ever be thanks to the constant influx of magical medicines. It was time to enact his daring escape and rescue Geralt from the clutches of that evil witch, Morgana le Fay. 

_ You were right, Babcia,  _ Jaskier thought as he tied the long, heavy wolf tapestry to the fixture of his window and lowered the rest of it towards the ground below. _T_ _ his is playing a bigger part in my Destiny than you probably ever could have hoped.  _

He clambered down the velvet until his feet hit the ground below and he took off in the direction of Miles Cross. There was a vial of blessed water clutched in his hand and the hood of his cloak was pulled low over his face as he disappeared into the treeline of Carterhaugh Forest. 

* * *

Jaskier poured the blessed water in a large circle at the edge of the creek that bordered between Miles Cross and Carterhaugh Forest. He sat within it, huddled down behind a bank of reeds in his crimson cloak. Even the darkness of night couldn’t hide _all_ of the color. It was too late to remove it now, though. He could only sit in silence and pray that Morgana wouldn’t notice him too quickly and throw off his plan. He could only pray, to any and every god that was available, that he could save Geralt. 

For a moment he wondered why he'd worn the thing at all. He could have worn something else, probably, but the cloak felt _important_. He kept hearing his Babcia’s voice at the back of his mind, papery thin with age,  _ “It is the will of Destiny, Jaskier, that I give this to you. It will play an important role in your life one day.” _

_ “Like the tapestry?” _

_ "Yes, little buttercup, just like the tapestry.” _

In the near distance he could hear the gentle ringing of horseshoes against cobblestone. The sorceress and her retinue were making their way through a sleeping Miles Cross towards the Carterhaugh Forest. He realized with a silent but gleeful grin that they would be passing directly by his magically protected hiding spot. _Perfect_.

He eyed the procession as it grew nearer, watching the way the riders swayed atop their steeds. Morgana passed him by first, eyes staring directly at the road ahead as she perched atop her white stallion. Her black leather saddle had been embroidered along the edges with the phases of the moon and her wild, raven hair had been plaited out of her face. 

An unfamiliar knight in full, dark armor followed behind her on a black horse. His saddle was the reverse design of the sorceress's, made of white leather and lined with fiery suns. It contrasted with his armor and confused Jaskier; but neither of them mattered. Not when he set eyes on the third rider at the head of the long procession.

Behind the sorceress and her attendant, sitting tall and proud atop his faithful Roach, was Geralt. They’d dressed him up for the occasion with tailored black trousers and a deep blue tunic embroidered all over with stars. A silver circlet set with sapphires was braided into his fine, white hair. If the circumstances had been any different Jaskier might have cried from how beautiful his darling Wolf looked like this; but the fact that he was about to be given over to the Lords of Hell as a sacrifice meant that there was no time for ogling.

As the rider passed before his hiding spot, Jaskier leaped forward and pulled Geralt down from his mount. He yanked the startled knight into the blessed circle and cradled the man in his lap. He wrapped his arms wrapped tightly around the knight’s midsection in a nearly crushing embrace; Morgana wasn't getting him back. Geralt grunted, surprised and confused, and watched with panicked yellow eyes as Morgana steered her horse around at the sound of the commotion. “Let me go, Jask, you’ll get yourself killed alongside me.”

“I’m breaking the curse,” the boy muttered. “Hold still or this will be even more painful than she intends for it to be.”

“What?”

“They’ll burn my arms with you, erelong,” Jaskier smiled. Realization dawned on Geralt’s face as he continued. “And then her curse shall be o’erruled.”

“Jaskier,” Geralt breathed. “You figured it out.”

“Now let’s see if we can survive it, yeah, my love?”

“How touching,” the sorceress sneered. She'd driven her horse closer and glared down at them with a fiery intensity. She was furious. “But I won’t have you taken from me yet, Geralt! I’ll give you to the Lords myself if I must! I’ll drag you to the mouth of Hell by your long white hair and toss you in like a sack of old potatoes!”

“He’s on sacred ground!” Jaskier practically screeched. Geralt was impressed by the intensity behind his darling's words. He felt the Lord's surprisingly strong grip around him tightening even further as he spoke. “You'll never hurt him again you wretched bitch!”

“You underestimate me, mortal. I always get what I want, and I shall rip him from your arms by any means possible,” Morgana glared. She waved her hand in their direction and Geralt’s hulking human form was replaced by that of a thin, darkly-scaled snake. The adder twisted and writhed in Jaskier’s tight grip but he held fast. Even as those teeth lunged towards his face again and again he refused to let his White Wolf go. _From snake, to bear, to lion strong, we'll burn their arms with you erelong._ A snake was the first of three transformations and Jaskier, while frightened, was prepared.

Morgana screamed wordlessly at his refusal to give up and waved her hand again, more emphatically. The squirming snake was gone and the young Lord’s arms now encircled the neck of an enormous brown bear. It roared and tossed its bulk around, standing on its back legs and bringing the mortal with it. Still, clinging with all his might, the boy did not release his grip on Geralt.

The sorceress was growing desperate. She knew the next form to come, of course. It had been written in her curse all those years ago; a curse she had expected to be unbreakable. She groaned miserably and waved her hand a third time. Geralt shifted from a bear to a lion and Jaskier sucked in a deep breath. The fur of its huge, sandy mane tickled his nose but he refused to loosen his iron grip on the animal. 

He couldn’t bear to lose Geralt again. He would die first.

So Jaskier held on tightly even as the lion roared and shook its broad shoulders back and forth in an effort to dislodge him. Even as it brought one enormous paw up to try and swipe at the boy, his arms stayed fast in place around its neck. "Geralt, hold on," he murmured. "Just let me hold on for a moment longer and then you'll be free."

Finally, with a petulant shriek, Morgana snapped her fingers and watched as the knight turned from a living creature into a lump of white-hot iron in the boy's outstretched hands. Jaskier bit his lip bloody to hide the searing pain of holding Geralt and tossed the piece of metal carefully into the small creek behind him. 

There was a sharp  _ hiss  _ as it sunk to the bottom and then a  _ whoosh  _ as Geralt shot out of the water. He was stark naked and wide-eyed but he was  _ human.  _ Totally and completely human. There was no trace of Morgana’s magic left in him; he could feel the heaviness of mortality weighing on him once again, freed from the horrible curse at last. 

Jaskier pulled the red cloak from around his shoulders and used it to cover his darling's modesty. “Geralt, my love!”

“Jaskier!” the knight replied with equal excitement. His voice was still hoarse from all the transformations and his body language practically screamed with exhaustion, but still the handsome knight pulled his little Lord close for a searing kiss. He pressed their foreheads together and whispered against Jaskier's soft lips, “I thought I’d lost you forever. They told me that you’d died. That you'd wasted away from a broken heart."

“I was never in any danger, my sweet,” his Fated darling laughed. Jaskier wiped the tears from Geralt’s eyes and pressed a kiss to both his damp cheeks. “I would have done  _ anything  _ to keep you safe, my darling. My Wolf.”

“A wolf no longer,” Geralt replied, tucking a stray hair behind Jaskier’s ear. “Only a man. Only yours.”

“Disgusting,” Morgana interrupted. Her hair and eyes were equally wild and she looked far less composed than she had moments ago. “Had I known before that your love could really break my curse, I would have replaced your mortal heart with a heart of stone, Geralt de Riv. I would have poked out your eyes and killed the boy. You’ve won yourself a handsome groom, Julian Pankratz, but you’ve won yourself a powerful enemy as well.”

Jaskier pulled himself up to his full height and pushed Geralt behind him, shielding the knight with his only _barely_ slimmer frame. He narrowed his bright blue eyes and sent the witch a dark, threatening glare. “Should you take one step into Carterhaugh Forest again, Morgana, I promise that you will not leave alive.”

“And what are you going to do to keep me out, mortal? I have power and you have nothing! Not even a sword!”

“It’s after midnight, My Lady,” the boy smirked. “No longer Hallowe’en. Your tithe has not been paid in time. Will you have your powers when the sun rises tomorrow?”

The tired young Lord turned and gathered Geralt into his arms again. There was no reason to stick around and hear the answer; he already knew she was turning to dust above her elaborate saddle.

“Thank you,” Geralt whispered, pressing his lips ever so reverently against his rescuer’s temple. “I owe you my life.”

“We belong to each other, then,” Jaskier surmised. “I belong to you through the Law of Surprise and you owe me a life debt. I suppose something could be arranged where we spend the rest of our mortal years making it up to the universe.”

“Hmm,” the knight errant agreed. “I suppose you’re right.”

They turned to face Castle Pankratz together and Jaskier sighed. "I'm going to stage a coup and take the keep out of my Father's iron grip. I'm going to rename it, after my mother's family, and return Foulis Manor to its previous glory. I'm going to do good by the people of Miles Cross and Carterhaugh Proper." 

"You'll make a wonderful Lord.'

"And you, my sweet and protective wolf," the younger man grinned, pressing his mouth briefly against Geralt's once again, "Will make a lovely husband."

**Author's Note:**

> *shakes a tin cup in your general direction* Comments? Thoughts? Emojis?


End file.
